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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/21971-0.txt b/21971-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9874325 --- /dev/null +++ b/21971-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7359 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son Of The Sun, by Jack London + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Son Of The Sun + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: June 29, 2007 [EBook #21971] +Last Updated: March 3, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +A SON OF THE SUN + +BY JACK LONDON + + +1912 + + + +CONTENTS + + I. A Son of the Sun + + II. The Proud Goat of Aloysius Pankburn + + III. The Devils of Fuatino + + IV. The Jokers of New Gibbon + + V. A Little Account With Swithin Hall + + VI. A Goboto Night + + VII. The Feathers of the Sun + + VIII. The Peabls of Parlay + + + + +A SON OF THE SUN + + + + +Chapter One--A SON OF THE SUN + + + + +I + +The _Willi-Waw_ lay in the passage between the shore-reef and the +outer-reef. From the latter came the low murmur of a lazy surf, but the +sheltered stretch of water, not more than a hundred yards across to the +white beach of pounded coral sand, was of glass-like smoothness. Narrow +as was the passage, and anchored as she was in the shoalest place that +gave room to swing, the _Willi-Waw's_ chain rode up-and-down a clean +hundred feet. Its course could be traced over the bottom of living +coral. Like some monstrous snake, the rusty chain's slack wandered +over the ocean floor, crossing and recrossing itself several times and +fetching up finally at the idle anchor. Big rock-cod, dun and mottled, +played warily in and out of the coral. Other fish, grotesque of form and +colour, were brazenly indifferent, even when a big fish-shark drifted +sluggishly along and sent the rock-cod scuttling for their favourite +crevices. + +On deck, for'ard, a dozen blacks pottered clumsily at scraping the teak +rail. They were as inexpert at their work as so many monkeys. In fact +they looked very much like monkeys of some enlarged and prehistoric +type. Their eyes had in them the querulous plaintiveness of the monkey, +their faces were even less symmetrical than the monkey's, and, hairless +of body, they were far more ungarmented than any monkey, for clothes +they had none. Decorated they were as no monkey ever was. In holes in +their ears they carried short clay pipes, rings of turtle shell, huge +plugs of wood, rusty wire nails, and empty rifle cartridges. The calibre +of a Winchester rifle was the smallest hole an ear bore; some of the +largest holes were inches in diameter, and any single ear averaged from +three to half a dozen holes. Spikes and bodkins of polished bone or +petrified shell were thrust through their noses. On the chest of one +hung a white doorknob, on the chest of another the handle of a china +cup, on the chest of a third the brass cogwheel of an alarm clock. They +chattered in queer, falsetto voices, and, combined, did no more work +than a single white sailor. + +Aft, under an awning, were two white men. Each was clad in a six-penny +undershirt and wrapped about the loins with a strip of cloth. Belted +about the middle of each was a revolver and tobacco pouch. The sweat +stood out on their skin in myriads of globules. Here and there the +globules coalesced in tiny streams that dripped to the heated deck and +almost immediately evaporated. The lean, dark-eyed man wiped his fingers +wet with a stinging stream from his forehead and flung it from him with +a weary curse. Wearily, and without hope, he gazed seaward across the +outer-reef, and at the tops of the palms along the beach. + +“Eight o'clock, an' hell don't get hot till noon,” he complained. “Wisht +to God for a breeze. Ain't we never goin' to get away?” + +The other man, a slender German of five and twenty, with the massive +forehead of a scholar and the tumble-home chin of a degenerate, did not +trouble to reply. He was busy emptying powdered quinine into a cigarette +paper. Rolling what was approximately fifty grains of the drug into a +tight wad, he tossed it into his mouth and gulped it down without the +aid of water. + +“Wisht I had some whiskey,” the first man panted, after a fifteen-minute +interval of silence. + +Another equal period elapsed ere the German enounced, relevant of +nothing: + +“I'm rotten with fever. I'm going to quit you, Griffiths, when we get to +Sydney. No more tropics for me. I ought to known better when I signed on +with you.” + +“You ain't been much of a mate,” Griffiths replied, too hot himself to +speak heatedly. “When the beach at Guvutu heard I'd shipped you, they +all laughed. 'What? Jacobsen?' they said. 'You can't hide a square +face of trade gin or sulphuric acid that he won't smell out!' You've +certainly lived up to your reputation. I ain't had a drink for a +fortnight, what of your snoopin' my supply.” + +“If the fever was as rotten in you as me, you'd understand,” the mate +whimpered. + +“I ain't kickin',” Griffiths answered. “I only wisht God'd send me a +drink, or a breeze of wind, or something. I'm ripe for my next chill +to-morrow.” + +The mate proffered him the quinine. Rolling a fifty-grain dose, he +popped the wad into his mouth and swallowed it dry. + +“God! God!” he moaned. “I dream of a land somewheres where they ain't no +quinine. Damned stuff of hell! I've scoffed tons of it in my time.” + +Again he quested seaward for signs of wind. The usual trade-wind clouds +were absent, and the sun, still low in its climb to meridian, turned all +the sky to heated brass. One seemed to see as well as feel this heat, +and Griffiths sought vain relief by gazing shoreward. The white beach +was a searing ache to his eyeballs. The palm trees, absolutely still, +outlined flatly against the unrefreshing green of the packed jungle, +seemed so much cardboard scenery. The little black boys, playing +naked in the dazzle of sand and sun, were an affront and a hurt to the +sun-sick man. He felt a sort of relief when one, running, tripped and +fell on all-fours in the tepid sea-water. + +An exclamation from the blacks for'ard sent both men glancing seaward. +Around the near point of land, a quarter of a mile away and skirting the +reef, a long black canoe paddled into sight. + +“Gooma boys from the next bight,” was the mate's verdict. + +One of the blacks came aft, treading the hot deck with the unconcern of +one whose bare feet felt no heat. This, too, was a hurt to Griffiths, +and he closed his eyes. But the next moment they were open wide. + +“White fella marster stop along Gooma boy,” the black said. + +Both men were on their feet and gazing at the canoe. Aft could be seen +the unmistakable sombrero of a white man. Quick alarm showed itself on +the face of the mate. + +“It's Grief,” he said. + +Griffiths satisfied himself by a long look, then ripped out a wrathful +oath. + +“What's he doing up here?” he demanded of the mate, of the aching sea +and sky, of the merciless blaze of sun, and of the whole superheated and +implacable universe with which his fate was entangled. + +The mate began to chuckle. + +“I told you you couldn't get away with it,” he said. + +But Griffiths was not listening. + +“With all his money, coming around like a rent collector,” he chanted +his outrage, almost in an ecstasy of anger. “He's loaded with money, +he's stuffed with money, he's busting with money. I know for a fact he +sold his Yringa plantations for three hundred thousand pounds. Bell +told me so himself last time we were drunk at Guvutu. Worth millions and +millions, and Shylocking me for what he wouldn't light his pipe with.” + He whirled on the mate. “Of course you told me so. Go on and say it, and +keep on saying it. Now just what was it you did tell me so?” + +“I told you you didn't know him, if you thought you could clear the +Solomons without paying him. That man Grief is a devil, but he's +straight. I know. I told you he'd throw a thousand quid away for the fun +of it, and for sixpence fight like a shark for a rusty tin, I tell you I +know. Didn't he give his _Balakula_ to the Queensland Mission when they +lost their _Evening Star_ on San Cristobal?--and the _Balakula_ worth +three thousand pounds if she was worth a penny? And didn't he beat up +Strothers till he lay abed a fortnight, all because of a difference of +two pound ten in the account, and because Strothers got fresh and tried +to make the gouge go through?” + +“God strike me blind!” Griffiths cried in im-potency of rage. + +The mate went on with his exposition. + +“I tell you only a straight man can buck a straight man like him, and +the man's never hit the Solomons that could do it. Men like you and me +can't buck him. We're too rotten, too rotten all the way through. You've +got plenty more than twelve hundred quid below. Pay him, and get it over +with.” + +But Griffiths gritted his teeth and drew his thin lips tightly across +them. + +“I'll buck him,” he muttered--more to himself and the brazen ball of sun +than to the mate. He turned and half started to go below, then turned +back again. “Look here, Jacob-sen. He won't be here for quarter of an +hour. Are you with me? Will you stand by me?” + +“Of course I'll stand by you. I've drunk all your whiskey, haven't I? +What are you going to do?” + +“I'm not going to kill him if I can help it. But I'm not going to pay. +Take that flat.” + +Jacobsen shrugged his shoulders in calm acquiescence to fate, and +Griffiths stepped to the companionway and went below. + + + + +II + +Jacobsen watched the canoe across the low reef as it came abreast and +passed on to the entrance of the passage. Griffiths, with ink-marks on +right thumb and forefinger, returned on deck Fifteen minutes later the +canoe came alongside. The man with the sombrero stood up. + +“Hello, Griffiths!” he said. “Hello, Jacobsen!” With his hand on the +rail he turned to his dusky crew. “You fella boy stop along canoe +altogether.” + +As he swung over the rail and stepped on deck a hint of catlike +litheness showed in the apparently heavy body. Like the other two, he +was scantily clad. The cheap undershirt and white loin-cloth did not +serve to hide the well put up body. Heavy muscled he was, but he was +not lumped and hummocked by muscles. They were softly rounded, and, when +they did move, slid softly and silkily under the smooth, tanned skin. +Ardent suns had likewise tanned his face till it was swarthy as a +Spaniard's. The yellow mustache appeared incongruous in the midst of +such swarthiness, while the clear blue of the eyes produced a feeling of +shock on the beholder. It was difficult to realize that the skin of this +man had once been fair. + +“Where did you blow in from?” Griffiths asked, as they shook hands. “I +thought you were over in the Santa Cruz.” + +“I was,” the newcomer answered. “But we made a quick passage. The +_Wonder's_ just around in the bight at Gooma, waiting for wind. Some +of the bushmen reported a ketch here, and I just dropped around to see. +Well, how goes it?” + +“Nothing much. Copra sheds mostly empty, and not half a dozen tons of +ivory nuts. The women all got rotten with fever and quit, and the men +can't chase them back into the swamps. They're a sick crowd. I'd ask you +to have a drink, but the mate finished off my last bottle. I wisht to +God for a breeze of wind.” + +Grief, glancing with keen carelessness from one to the other, laughed. + +“I'm glad the calm held,” he said. “It enabled me to get around to see +you. My supercargo dug up that little note of yours, and I brought it +along.” + +The mate edged politely away, leaving his skipper to face his trouble. + +“I'm sorry, Grief, damned sorry,” Griffiths said, “but I ain't got it. +You'll have to give me a little more time.” + +Grief leaned up against the companionway, surprise and pain depicted on +his face. + +“It does beat hell,” he communed, “how men learn to lie in the Solomons. +The truth's not in them. Now take Captain Jensen. I'd sworn by his +truthfulness. Why, he told me only five days ago--do you want to know +what he told me?” + +Griffiths licked his lips. + +“Go on.” + +“Why, he told me that you'd sold out--sold out everything, cleaned up, +and was pulling out for the New Hebrides.” + +“He's a damned liar!” Griffiths cried hotly. + +Grief nodded. + +“I should say so. He even had the nerve to tell me that he'd bought two +of your stations from you--Mauri and Kahula. Said he paid you seventeen +hundred gold sovereigns, lock, stock and barrel, good will, trade-goods, +credit, and copra.” + +Griffiths's eyes narrowed and glinted. The action was involuntary, and +Grief noted it with a lazy sweep of his eyes. + +“And Parsons, your trader at Hickimavi, told me that the Fulcrum Company +had bought that station from you. Now what did he want to lie for?” + +Griffiths, overwrought by sun and sickness, exploded. All his bitterness +of spirit rose up in his face and twisted his mouth into a snarl. + +“Look here, Grief, what's the good of playing with me that way? You +know, and I know you know. Let it go at that. I _have_ sold out, and I +_am_ getting away. And what are you going to do about it?” + +Grief shrugged his shoulders, and no hint of resolve shadowed itself in +his own face. His expression was as of one in a quandary. + +“There's no law here,” Griffiths pressed home his advantage. “Tulagi is +a hundred and fifty miles away. I've got my clearance papers, and I'm +on my own boat. There's nothing to stop me from sailing. You've got no +right to stop me just because I owe you a little money. And by God! you +can't stop me. Put that in your pipe.” + +The look of pained surprise on Grief's face deepened. + +“You mean you're going to cheat me out of that twelve hundred, +Griffiths?” + +“That's just about the size of it, old man. And calling hard names won't +help any. There's the wind coming. You'd better get overside before I +pull out, or I'll tow your canoe under.” + +“Really, Griffiths, you sound almost right. I can't stop you.” Grief +fumbled in the pouch that hung on his revolver-belt and pulled out a +crumpled official-looking paper. “But maybe this will stop you. And it's +something for _your_ pipe. Smoke up.” + +“What is it?” + +“An admiralty warrant. Running to the New Hebrides won't save you. It +can be served anywhere.” + +Griffiths hesitated and swallowed, when he had finished glancing at the +document. With knit brows he pondered this new phase of the situation. +Then, abruptly, as he looked up, his face relaxed into all frankness. + +“You were cleverer than I thought, old man,” he said. “You've got me +hip and thigh. I ought to have known better than to try and beat you. +Jacobsen told me I couldn't, and I wouldn't listen to him. But he was +right, and so are you. I've got the money below. Come on down and we'll +settle.” + +He started to go down, then stepped aside to let his visitor precede +him, at the same time glancing seaward to where the dark flaw of wind +was quickening the water. + +“Heave short,” he told the mate. “Get up sail and stand ready to break +out.” + +As Grief sat down on the edge of the mate's bunk, close against and +facing the tiny table, he noticed the butt of a revolver just projecting +from under the pillow. On the table, which hung on hinges from the +for'ard bulkhead, were pen and ink, also a battered log-book. + +“Oh, I don't mind being caught in a dirty trick,” Griffiths was saying +defiantly. “I've been in the tropics too long. I'm a sick man, a damn +sick man. And the whiskey, and the sun, and the fever have made me sick +in morals, too. Nothing's too mean and low for me now, and I can +understand why the niggers eat each other, and take heads, and such +things. I could do it myself. So I call trying to do you out of that +small account a pretty mild trick. Wisht I could offer you a drink.” + +Grief made no reply, and the other busied himself in attempting to +unlock a large and much-dented cash-box. From on deck came falsetto +cries and the creak and rattle of blocks as the black crew swung up +mainsail and driver. Grief watched a large cockroach crawling over the +greasy paintwork. Griffiths, with an oath of irritation, carried the +cash-box to the companion-steps for better light. Here, on his feet, and +bending over the box, his back to his visitor, his hands shot out to +the rifle that stood beside the steps, and at the same moment he whirled +about. + +“Now don't you move a muscle,” he commanded. + +Grief smiled, elevated his eyebrows quizzically, and obeyed. His left +hand rested on the bunk beside him; his right hand lay on the table. + +His revolver hung on his right hip in plain sight. But in his mind was +recollection of the other revolver under the pillow. + +“Huh!” Griffiths sneered. “You've got everybody in the Solomons +hypnotized, but let me tell you you ain't got me. Now I'm going to throw +you off my vessel, along with your admiralty warrant, but first you've +got to do something. Lift up that log-book.” + +The other glanced curiously at the log-book, but did not move. + +“I tell you I'm a sick man, Grief; and I'd as soon shoot you as smash a +cockroach. Lift up that log-book, I say.” + +Sick he did look, his lean face working nervously with the rage that +possessed him. Grief lifted the book and set it aside. Beneath lay a +written sheet of tablet paper. + +“Read it,” Griffiths commanded. “Read it aloud.” + +Grief obeyed; but while he read, the fingers of his left hand began an +infinitely slow and patient crawl toward the butt of the weapon under +the pillow. + +“On board the ketch Willi-Waw, Bombi Bight, Island of Anna, Solomon +Islands,” he read. “Know all men by these presents that I do hereby sign +off and release in full, for due value received, all debts whatsoever +owing to me by Harrison J. Griffiths, who has this day paid to me twelve +hundred pounds sterling.” + +“With that receipt in my hands,” Griffiths grinned, “your admiralty +warrant's not worth the paper it's written on. Sign it.” + +“It won't do any good, Griffiths,” Grief said. “A document signed under +compulsion won't hold before the law.” + +“In that case, what objection have you to signing it then?” + +“Oh, none at all, only that I might save you heaps of trouble by not +signing it.” + +Grief's fingers had gained the revolver, and, while he talked, with his +right hand he played with the pen and with his left began slowly and +imperceptibly drawing the weapon to his side. As his hand finally closed +upon it, second finger on trigger and forefinger laid past the cylinder +and along the barrel, he wondered what luck he would have at left-handed +snap-shooting. + +“Don't consider me,” Griffiths gibed. “And just remember Jacobsen will +testify that he saw me pay the money over. Now sign, sign in full, at +the bottom, David Grief, and date it.” + +From on deck came the jar of sheet-blocks and the rat-tat-tat of +the reef-points against the canvas. In the cabin they could feel the +_Willi-Waw_ heel, swing into the wind, and right. David Grief still +hesitated. From for'ard came the jerking rattle of headsail halyards +through the sheaves. The little vessel heeled, and through the cabin +walls came the gurgle and wash of water. + +“Get a move on!” Griffiths cried. “The anchor's out.” + +The muzzle of the rifle, four feet away, was bearing directly on him, +when Grief resolved to act. The rifle wavered as Griffiths kept his +balance in the uncertain puffs of the first of the wind. Grief took +advantage of the wavering, made as if to sign the paper, and at the same +instant, like a cat, exploded into swift and intricate action. As he +ducked low and leaped forward with his body, his left hand flashed from +under the screen of the table, and so accurately-timed was the single +stiff pull on the self-cocking trigger that the cartridge discharged as +the muzzle came forward. Not a whit behind was Griffiths. The muzzle +of his weapon dropped to meet the ducking body, and, shot at snap +direction, rifle and revolver went off simultaneously. + +Grief felt the sting and sear of a bullet across the skin of his +shoulder, and knew that his own shot had missed. His forward rush +carried him to Griffiths before another shot could be fired, both of +whose arms, still holding the rifle, he locked with a low tackle about +the body. He shoved the revolver muzzle, still in his left hand, deep +into the other's abdomen. Under the press of his anger and the sting of +his abraded skin, Grief's finger was lifting the hammer, when the wave +of anger passed and he recollected himself. Down the companion-way came +indignant cries from the Gooma boys in his canoe. + +Everything was happening in seconds. There was apparently no pause in +his actions as he gathered Griffiths in his arms and carried him up the +steep steps in a sweeping rush. Out into the blinding glare of sunshine +he came. A black stood grinning at the wheel, and the _Willi-Waw_, +heeled over from the wind, was foaming along. Rapidly dropping astern +was his Gooma canoe. Grief turned his head. From amidships, revolver in +hand, the mate was springing toward him. With two jumps, still holding +the helpless Griffiths, Grief leaped to the rail and overboard. + +Both men were grappled together as they went down; but Grief, with +a quick updraw of his knees to the other's chest, broke the grip and +forced him down. With both feet on Griffiths's shoulder, he forced him +still deeper, at the same time driving himself to the surface. Scarcely +had his head broken into the sunshine when two splashes of water, in +quick succession and within a foot of his face, advertised that Jacobsen +knew how to handle a revolver. There was a chance for no third shot, for +Grief, filling his lungs with air, sank down. Under water he struck +out, nor did he come up till he saw the canoe and the bubbling paddles +overhead. As he climbed aboard, the _Wlli-Waw_ went into the wind to +come about. + +“Washee-washee!” Grief cried to his boys. “You fella make-um beach quick +fella time!” + +In all shamelessness, he turned his back on the battle and ran for +cover. The _Willi-Waw_, compelled to deaden way in order to pick up its +captain, gave Grief his chance for a lead. The canoe struck the beach +full-tilt, with every paddle driving, and they leaped out and ran across +the sand for the trees. But before they gained the shelter, three times +the sand kicked into puffs ahead of them. Then they dove into the green +safety of the jungle. + +Grief watched the _Willi-Waw_ haul up close, go out the passage, then +slack its sheets as it headed south with the wind abeam. As it went out +of sight past the point he could see the topsail being broken out. One +of the Gooma boys, a black, nearly fifty years of age, hideously marred +and scarred by skin diseases and old wounds, looked up into his face and +grinned. + +“My word,” the boy commented, “that fella skipper too much cross along +you.” + +Grief laughed, and led the way back across the sand to the canoe. + + + + +III + +How many millions David Grief was worth no man in the Solomons knew, for +his holdings and ventures were everywhere in the great South Pacific. +From Samoa to New Guinea and even to the north of the Line his +plantations were scattered. He possessed pearling concessions in the +Paumotus. Though his name did not appear, he was in truth the German +company that traded in the French Marquesas. His trading stations were +in strings in all the groups, and his vessels that operated them were +many. He owned atolls so remote and tiny that his smallest schooners and +ketches visited the solitary agents but once a year. + +In Sydney, on Castlereagh Street, his offices occupied three floors. +But he was rarely in those offices. He preferred always to be on the go +amongst the islands, nosing out new investments, inspecting and shaking +up old ones, and rubbing shoulders with fun and adventure in a thousand +strange guises. He bought the wreck of the great steamship _Gavonne_ +for a song, and in salving it achieved the impossible and cleaned up a +quarter of a million. In the Louisiades he planted the first commercial +rubber, and in Bora-Bora he ripped out the South Sea cotton and put the +jolly islanders at the work of planting cacao. It was he who took the +deserted island of Lallu-Ka, colonized it with Polynesians from the +Ontong-Java Atoll, and planted four thousand acres to cocoanuts. And it +was he who reconciled the warring chief-stocks of Tahiti and swung the +great deal of the phosphate island of Hikihu. + +His own vessels recruited his contract labour. They brought Santa +Cruz boys to the New Hebrides, New Hebrides boys to the Banks, and the +head-hunting cannibals of Malaita to the plantations of New Georgia. +From Tonga to the Gilberts and on to the far Louisiades his recruiters +combed the islands for labour. His keels plowed all ocean stretches. He +owned three steamers on regular island runs, though he rarely elected to +travel in them, preferring the wilder and more primitive way of wind and +sail. + +At least forty years of age, he looked no more than thirty. Yet +beachcombers remembered his advent among the islands a score of years +before, at which time the yellow mustache was already budding silkily on +his lip. Unlike other white men in the tropics, he was there because he +liked it. His protective skin pigmentation was excellent. He had +been born to the sun. One he was in ten thousand in the matter of +sun-resistance. The invisible and high-velocity light waves failed to +bore into him. Other white men were pervious. The sun drove through +their skins, ripping and smashing tissues and nerves, till they became +sick in mind and body, tossed most of the Decalogue overboard, descended +to beastliness, drank themselves into quick graves, or survived so +savagely that war vessels were sometimes sent to curb their license. + +But David Grief was a true son of the sun, and he flourished in all its +ways. He merely became browner with the passing of the years, though +in the brown was the hint of golden tint that glows in the skin of the +Polynesian. Yet his blue eyes retained their blue, his mustache its +yellow, and the lines of his face were those which had persisted through +the centuries in his English race. English he was in blood, yet those +that thought they knew contended he was at least American born. Unlike +them, he had not come out to the South Seas seeking hearth and saddle of +his own. In fact, he had brought hearth and saddle with him. His advent +had been in the Paumotus. He arrived on board a tiny schooner yacht, +master and owner, a youth questing romance and adventure along the +sun-washed path of the tropics. He also arrived in a hurricane, the +giant waves of which deposited him and yacht and all in the thick of a +cocoanut grove three hundred yards beyond the surf. Six months later he +was rescued by a pearling cutter. But the sun had got into his blood. +At Tahiti, instead of taking a steamer home, he bought a schooner, +outfitted her with trade-goods and divers, and went for a cruise through +the Dangerous Archipelago. + +As the golden tint burned into his face it poured molten out of the ends +of his fingers. His was the golden touch, but he played the game, not +for the gold, but for the game's sake. It was a man's game, the rough +contacts and fierce give and take of the adventurers of his own blood +and of half the bloods of Europe and the rest of the world, and it was a +good game; but over and beyond was his love of all the other things +that go to make up a South Seas rover's life--the smell of the reef; +the infinite exquisiteness of the shoals of living coral in the +mirror-surfaced lagoons; the crashing sunrises of raw colours spread +with lawless cunning; the palm-tufted islets set in turquoise deeps; +the tonic wine of the trade-winds; the heave and send of the orderly, +crested seas; the moving deck beneath his feet, the straining canvas +overhead; the flower-garlanded, golden-glowing men and maids of +Polynesia, half-children and half-gods; and even the howling savages of +Melanesia, head-hunters and man-eaters, half-devil and all beast. + +And so, favoured child of the sun, out of munificence of energy and +sheer joy of living, he, the man of many millions, forbore on his far +way to play the game with Harrison J. Griffiths for a paltry sum. It was +his whim, his desire, his expression of self and of the sun-warmth that +poured through him. It was fun, a joke, a problem, a bit of play on +which life was lightly hazarded for the joy of the playing. + + + + +IV + +The early morning found the _Wonder_ laying close-hauled along the coast +of Guadalcanal She moved lazily through the water under the dying breath +of the land breeze. To the east, heavy masses of clouds promised a +renewal of the southeast trades, accompanied by sharp puffs and rain +squalls. Ahead, laying along the coast on the same course as the +_Wonder_, and being slowly overtaken, was a small ketch. It was not the +_Willi-Waw_, however, and Captain Ward, on the _Wonder_, putting down +his glasses, named it the _Kauri_. + +Grief, just on deck from below, sighed regretfully. + +“If it had only been the _Willi-Waw_” he said. + +“You do hate to be beaten,” Denby, the supercargo, remarked +sympathetically. + +“I certainly do.” Grief paused and laughed with genuine mirth. “It's my +firm conviction that Griffiths is a rogue, and that he treated me quite +scurvily yesterday. 'Sign,' he says, 'sign in full, at the bottom, and +date it,' And Jacobsen, the little rat, stood in with him. It was rank +piracy, the days of Bully Hayes all over again.” + +“If you weren't my employer, Mr. Grief, I'd like to give you a piece of +my mind,” Captain Ward broke in. + +“Go on and spit it out,” Grief encouraged. + +“Well, then--” The captain hesitated and cleared his throat. “With all +the money you've got, only a fool would take the risk you did with those +two curs. What do you do it for?” + +“Honestly, I don't know, Captain. I just want to, I suppose. And can you +give any better reason for anything you do?” + +“You'll get your bally head shot off some fine day,” Captain Ward +growled in answer, as he stepped to the binnacle and took the bearing +of a peak which had just thrust its head through the clouds that covered +Guadalcanar. + +The land breeze strengthened in a last effort, and the _Wonder_, +slipping swiftly through the water, ranged alongside the _Kauri_ and +began to go by. Greetings flew back and forth, then David Grief called +out: + +“Seen anything of the _Willi-Waw_?” + +The captain, slouch-hatted and barelegged, with a rolling twist hitched +the faded blue _lava-lava_ tighter around his waist and spat tobacco +juice overside. + +“Sure,” he answered. “Griffiths lay at Savo last night, taking on pigs +and yams and filling his water-tanks. Looked like he was going for a +long cruise, but he said no. Why? Did you want to see him?” + +“Yes; but if you see him first don't tell him you've seen me.” + +The captain nodded and considered, and walked for'ard on his own deck to +keep abreast of the faster vessel. + +“Say!” he called. “Jacobsen told me they were coming down this afternoon +to Gabera. Said they were going to lay there to-night and take on sweet +potatoes.” + +“Gabera has the only leading lights in the Solomons,” Grief said, when +his schooner had drawn well ahead. “Is that right, Captain Ward?” + +The captain nodded. + +“And the little bight just around the point on this side, it's a rotten +anchorage, isn't it?” + +“No anchorage. All coral patches and shoals, and a bad surf. That's +where the _Molly_ went to pieces three years ago.” + +Grief stared straight before him with lustreless eyes for a full minute, +as if summoning some vision to his inner sight. Then the corners of his +eyes wrinkled and the ends of his yellow mustache lifted in a smile. + +“We'll anchor at Gabera,” he said. “And run in close to the little bight +this side. I want you to drop me in a whaleboat as you go by. Also, +give me six boys, and serve out rifles. I'll be back on board before +morning.” + +The captain's face took on an expression of suspicion, which swiftly +slid into one of reproach. + +“Oh, just a little fun, skipper,” Grief protested with the apologetic +air of a schoolboy caught in mischief by an elder. + +Captain Ward grunted, but Denby was all alertness. + +“I'd like to go along, Mr. Grief,” he said. + +Grief nodded consent. + +“Bring some axes and bush-knives,” he said. “And, oh, by the way, a +couple of bright lanterns. See they've got oil in them.” + + + + +V + +An hour before sunset the _Wonder_ tore by the little bight. The wind +had freshened, and a lively sea was beginning to make. The shoals +toward the beach were already white with the churn of water, while those +farther out as yet showed no more sign than of discoloured water. As +the schooner went into the wind and backed her jib and staysail the +whaleboat was swung out. Into it leaped six breech-clouted Santa Cruz +boys, each armed with a rifle. Denby, carrying the lanterns, dropped +into the stern-sheets. Grief, following, paused on the rail. + +“Pray for a dark night, skipper,” he pleaded. + +“You'll get it,” Captain Ward answered. “There's no moon anyway, and +there won't be any sky. She'll be a bit squally, too.” + +The forecast sent a radiance into Grief's face, making more pronounced +the golden tint of his sunburn. He leaped down beside the supercargo. + +“Cast off!” Captain Ward ordered. “Draw the headsails! Put your wheel +over! There! Steady! Take that course!” + +The _Wonder_ filled away and ran on around the point for Gabera, while +the whaleboat, pulling six oars and steered by Grief, headed for the +beach. With superb boatmanship he threaded the narrow, tortuous channel +which no craft larger than a whaleboat could negotiate, until the shoals +and patches showed seaward and they grounded on the quiet, rippling +beach. + +The next hour was filled with work. Moving about among the wild +cocoanuts and jungle brush, Grief selected the trees. + +“Chop this fella tree; chop that fella tree,” he told his blacks. “No +chop that other fella,” he said, with a shake of head. + +In the end, a wedge-shaped segment of jungle was cleared. Near to the +beach remained one long palm. At the apex of the wedge stood another. +Darkness was falling as the lanterns were lighted, carried up the two +trees, and made fast. + +“That outer lantern is too high.” David Grief studied it critically. +“Put it down about ten feet, Denby.” + + + + +VI + +The _Willi-Waw_ was tearing through the water with a bone in her teeth, +for the breath of the passing squall was still strong. The blacks were +swinging up the big mainsail, which had been lowered on the run when the +puff was at its height. Jacobsen, superintending the operation, ordered +them to throw the halyards down on deck and stand by, then went for'ard +on the lee-bow and joined Griffiths. Both men stared with wide-strained +eyes at the blank wall of darkness through which they were flying, their +ears tense for the sound of surf on the invisible shore. It was by this +sound that they were for the moment steering. + +The wind fell lighter, the scud of clouds thinned and broke, and in the +dim glimmer of starlight loomed the jungle-clad coast. Ahead, and well +on the lee-bow, appeared a jagged rock-point. Both men strained to it. + +“Amboy Point,” Griffiths announced. “Plenty of water close up. Take the +wheel, Jacobsen, till we set a course. Get a move on!” + +Running aft, barefooted and barelegged, the rainwater dripping from his +scant clothing, the mate displaced the black at the wheel. + +“How's she heading?” Griffiths called. + +“South-a-half-west!” + +“Let her come up south-by-west! Got it?” + +“Right on it!” + +Griffiths considered the changed relation of Amboy Point to the +_Willi-Waw_'s course. + +“And a-half-west!” he cried. + +“And a-half-west!” came the answer. “Right on it!” + +“Steady! That'll do!” + +“Steady she is!” Jacobsen turned the wheel over to the savage. “You +steer good fella, savve?” he warned. “No good fella, I knock your damn +black head off.” + +Again he went for'ard and joined the other, and again the cloud-scud +thickened, the star-glimmer vanished, and the wind rose and screamed in +another squall. + +“Watch that mainsail!” Griffiths yelled in the mate's ear, at the same +time studying the ketch's behaviour. + +Over she pressed, and lee-rail under, while he measured the weight of +the wind and quested its easement. The tepid sea-water, with here and +there tiny globules of phosphorescence, washed about his ankles and +knees. The wind screamed a higher note, and every shroud and stay +sharply chorused an answer as the _Willi-Waw_ pressed farther over and +down. + +“Down mainsail!” Griffiths yelled, springing to the peak-halyards, +thrusting away the black who held on, and casting off the turn. + +Jacobsen, at the throat-halyards, was performing the like office. The +big sail rattled down, and the blacks, with shouts and yells, threw +themselves on the battling canvas. The mate, finding one skulking in the +darkness, flung his bunched knuckles into the creature's face and drove +him to his work. + +The squall held at its high pitch, and under her small canvas the +_Willi-Waw_ still foamed along. Again the two men stood for'ard and +vainly watched in the horizontal drive of rain. + +“We're all right,” Griffiths said. “This rain won't last. We can hold +this course till we pick up the lights. Anchor in thirteen fathoms. +You'd better overhaul forty-five on a night like this. After that get +the gaskets on the mainsail. We won't need it.” + +Half an hour afterward his weary eyes were rewarded by a glimpse of two +lights. + +“There they are, Jacobsen. I'll take the wheel. Run down the +fore-staysail and stand by to let go. Make the niggers jump.” + +Aft, the spokes of the wheel in his hands, Griffiths held the course +till the two lights came in line, when he abruptly altered and headed +directly in for them. He heard the tumble and roar of the surf, but +decided it was farther away--as it should be, at Gabera. + +He heard the frightened cry of the mate, and was grinding the wheel down +with all his might, when the _Willi-Waw_ struck. At the same instant +her mainmast crashed over the bow. Five wild minutes followed. All hands +held on while the hull upheaved and smashed down on the brittle +coral and the warm seas swept over them. Grinding and crunching, the +_Willi-Waw_ worked itself clear over the shoal patch and came solidly to +rest in the comparatively smooth and shallow channel beyond. + +Griffiths sat down on the edge of the cabin, head bowed on chest, in +silent wrath and bitterness. Once he lifted his face to glare at the two +white lights, one above the other and perfectly in line. + +“There they are,” he said. “And this isn't Gabera. Then what the hell is +it?” + +Though the surf still roared and across the shoal flung its spray +and upper wash over them, the wind died down and the stars came out. +Shoreward came the sound of oars. + +“What have you had?--an earthquake?” Griffiths called out. “The bottom's +all changed. I've anchored here a hundred times in thirteen fathoms. Is +that you, Wilson?” + +A whaleboat came alongside, and a man climbed over the rail. In the +faint light Griffiths found an automatic Colt's thrust into his face, +and, looking up, saw David Grief. + +“No, you never anchored here before,” Grief laughed. “Gabera's just +around the point, where I'll be as soon as I've collected that little +sum of twelve hundred pounds. We won't bother for the receipt. I've your +note here, and I'll just return it.” + +“You did this!” Griffiths cried, springing to his feet in a sudden gust +of rage. “You faked those leading lights! You've wrecked me, and by--” + +“Steady! Steady!” Grief's voice was cool and menacing. “I'll trouble you +for that twelve hundred, please.” + +To Griffiths, a vast impotence seemed to descend upon him. He was +overwhelmed by a profound disgust--disgust for the sunlands and the +sun-sickness, for the futility of all his endeavour, for this blue-eyed, +golden-tinted, superior man who defeated him on all his ways. + +“Jacobsen,” he said, “will you open the cash-box and pay this--this +bloodsucker--twelve hundred pounds?” + + + + + +Chapter Two--THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS PANKBURN + + + + +I + +Quick eye that he had for the promise of adventure, prepared always for +the unexpected to leap out at him from behind the nearest cocoanut +tree, nevertheless David Grief received no warning when he laid eyes on +Aloysius Pankburn. It was on the little steamer _Berthe_. Leaving his +schooner to follow, Grief had taken passage for the short run across +from Raiatea to Papeete. When he first saw Aloysius Pankburn, that +somewhat fuddled gentleman was drinking a lonely cocktail at the tiny +bar between decks next to the barber shop. And when Grief left the +barber's hands half an hour later Aloysius Pankburn was still hanging +over the bar still drinking by himself. + +Now it is not good for man to drink alone, and Grief threw sharp +scrutiny into his pass-ing glance. He saw a well-built young man of +thirty, well-featured, well-dressed, and evidently, in the world's +catalogue, a gentleman. But in the faint hint of slovenliness, in +the shaking, eager hand that spilled the liquor, and in the nervous, +vacillating eyes, Grief read the unmistakable marks of the chronic +alcoholic. + +After dinner he chanced upon Pankburn again. This time it was on deck, +and the young man, clinging to the rail and peering into the distance +at the dim forms of a man and woman in two steamer chairs drawn closely +together, was crying, drunkenly. Grief noted that the man's arm was +around the woman's waist. Aloysius Pankburn looked on and cried. + +“Nothing to weep about,” Grief said genially. + +Pankburn looked at him, and gushed tears of profound self-pity. + +“It's hard,” he sobbed. “Hard. Hard. That man's my business manager. I +employ him. I pay him a good screw. And that's how he earns it.” + +“In that case, why don't you put a stop to it?” Grief advised. + +“I can't. She'd shut off my whiskey. She's my trained nurse.” + +“Fire _her_, then, and drink your head off.” + +“I can't. He's got all my money. If I did, he wouldn't give me sixpence +to buy a drink with.” + +This woful possibility brought a fresh wash of tears. Grief was +interested. Of all unique situations he could never have imagined such a +one as this. + +“They were engaged to take care of me,” Pankburn was blubbering, “to +keep me away from the drink. And that's the way they do it, lollygagging +all about the ship and letting me drink myself to death. It isn't right, +I tell you. It isn't right. They were sent along with me for the express +purpose of not letting me drink, and they let me drink to swinishness +as long as I leave them alone. If I complain they threaten not to let me +have another drop. What can a poor devil do? My death will be on their +heads, that's all. Come on down and join me.” + +He released his clutch on the rail, and would have fallen had Grief +not caught his arm. He seemed to undergo a transformation, to stiffen +physically, to thrust his chin forward aggressively, and to glint +harshly in his eyes. + +“I won't let them kill me. And they'll be sorry. I've offered them fifty +thousand--later on, of course. They laughed. They don't know. But I +know.” He fumbled in his coat pocket and drew forth an object that +flashed in the faint light. “They don't know the meaning of that. But I +do.” He looked at Grief with abrupt suspicion. “What do you make out of +it, eh? What do you make out of it?” + +David Grief caught a swift vision of an alcoholic degenerate putting +a very loving young couple to death with a copper spike, for a +copper spike was what he held in his hand, an evident old-fashioned +ship-fastening. + +“My mother thinks I'm up here to get cured of the booze habit. She +doesn't know. I bribed the doctor to prescribe a voyage. When we get to +Papeete my manager is going to charter a schooner and away we'll sail. +But they don't dream. They think it's the booze. I know. I only know. +Good night, sir. I'm going to bed--unless--er--you'll join me in a night +cap. One last drink, you know.” + + + + +II + +In the week that followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarre +glimpses of Aloysius Pankburn. So did everybody else in the little +island capital; for neither the beach nor Lavina's boarding house +had been so scandalized in years. In midday, bareheaded, clad only +in swimming trunks, Aloysius Pankburn ran down the main street from +Lavina's to the water front. He put on the gloves with a fireman from +the _Berthe_ in a scheduled four-round bout at the _Folies Bergères_, +and was knocked out in the second round. He tried insanely to drown +himself in a two-foot pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly from +fifty feet up in the rigging of the _Mariposa_ lying at the wharf, and +chartered the cutter _Toerau_ at more than her purchase price and was +only saved by his manager's refusal financially to ratify the agreement. +He bought out the old blind leper at the market, and sold breadfruit, +plantains, and sweet potatoes at such cut-rates that the gendarmes +were called out to break the rush of bargain-hunting natives. For that +matter, three times the gendarmes arrested him for riotous behaviour, +and three times his manager ceased from love-making long enough to pay +the fines imposed by a needy colonial administration. + +Then the _Mariposa_ sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suite +were the manager and the trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing, +the manager had thoughtfully bestowed eight five-pound banknotes on +Aloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloysius awoke several days +later to find himself broke and perilously near to delirium tremens. +Lavina, famed for her good heart even among the driftage of South +Pacific rogues and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filter +into his returning intelligence that there was neither manager nor money +to pay his board. + +It was several evenings after this that David Grief, lounging under +the after deck awning of the _Kittiwake_ and idly scanning the meagre +columns of the Papeete _Avant-Coureur_, sat suddenly up and almost +rubbed his eyes. It was unbelievable, but there it was. The old South +Seas Romance was not dead. He read: + + WANTED--To exchange a half interest in buried treasure, + worth five million francs, for transportation for one to an + unknown island in the Pacific and facilities for carrying + away the loot. Ask for FOLLY, at Lavina's. + +Grief looked at his watch. It was early yet, only eight o'clock. + +“Mr. Carlsen,” he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. “Get the +crew for the whale-boat. I'm going ashore.” + +The husky voice of the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half a +dozen strapping Rapa Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat. + +“I came to see Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine,” David Grief told Lavina. + +He noted the quick interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flung +a command in native across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. A +few minutes later a barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head. + +Lavina's disappointment was evident. + +“You're stopping aboard the _Kittiwake_, aren't you?” she said. “I'll +tell him you called.” + +“Then it is a _he?_” Grief queried. + +Lavina nodded. + +“I hope you can do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only a +good-natured woman. I don't know. But he's a likable man, and he may be +telling the truth; I don't know. You'll know. You're not a soft-hearted +fool like me. Can't I mix you a cocktail?” + + + + +III + +Back on board his schooner and dozing in a deck chair under a +three-months-old magazine, David Grief was aroused by a sobbing, +slubbering noise from overside. He opened his eyes. From the Chilian +cruiser, a quarter of a mile away, came the stroke of eight bells. It +was midnight. From overside came a splash and another slubbering noise. +To him it seemed half amphibian, half the sounds of a man crying to +himself and querulously chanting his sorrows to the general universe. + +A jump took David Grief to the low rail. Beneath, centred about the +slubbering noise, was an area of agitated phosphorescence. Leaning over, +he locked his hand under the armpit of a man, and, with pull and heave +and quick-changing grips, he drew on deck the naked form of Aloysius +Pankburn. + +“I didn't have a sou-markee,” he complained. “I had to swim it, and I +couldn't find your gangway. It was very miserable. Pardon me. If you +have a towel to put about my middle, and a good stiff drink, I'll be +more myself. I'm Mr. Folly, and you're the Captain Grief, I presume, +who called on me when I was out. No, I'm not drunk. Nor am I cold. This +isn't shivering. Lavina allowed me only two drinks to-day. I'm on the +edge of the horrors, that's all, and I was beginning to see things +when I couldn't find the gangway. If you'll take me below I'll be very +grateful. You are the only one that answered my advertisement.” + +He was shaking pitiably in the warm night, and down in the cabin, before +he got his towel, Grief saw to it that a half-tumbler of whiskey was in +his hand. + +“Now fire ahead,” Grief said, when he had got his guest into a shirt +and a pair of duck trousers. “What's this advertisement of yours? I'm +listening.” + +Pankburn looked at the whiskey bottle, but Grief shook his head. + +“All right, Captain, though I tell you on whatever is left of my honour +that I am not drunk--not in the least. Also, what I shall tell you is +true, and I shall tell it briefly, for it is clear to me that you are +a man of affairs and action. Likewise, your chemistry is good. To you +alcohol has never been a million maggots gnawing at every cell of you. +You've never been to hell. I am there now. I am scorching. Now listen. + +“My mother is alive. She is English. I was born in Australia. I +was educated at York and Yale. I am a master of arts, a doctor of +philosophy, and I am no good. Furthermore, I am an alcoholic. I have +been an athlete. I used to swan-dive a hundred and ten feet in the +clear. I hold several amateur records. I am a fish. I learned the +crawl-stroke from the first of the Cavilles. I have done thirty miles +in a rough sea. I have another record. I have punished more whiskey than +any man of my years. I will steal sixpence from you for the price of a +drink. Finally, I will tell you the truth. + +“My father was an American--an Annapolis man. He was a midshipman in the +War of the Rebellion. In '66 he was a lieutenant on the _Suwanee_. Her +captain was Paul Shirley. In '66 the Suwanee coaled at an island in the +Pacific which I do not care to mention, under a protectorate which did +not exist then and which shall be nameless. Ashore, behind the bar of a +public house, my father saw three copper spikes--ship's spikes.” + +David Grief smiled quietly. + +“And now I can tell you the name of the coaling station and of the +protectorate that came afterward,” he said. + +“And of the three spikes?” Pankburn asked with equal quietness. “Go +ahead, for they are in my possession now.” + +“Certainly. They were behind German Oscar's bar at Peenoo-Peenee. Johnny +Black brought them there from off his schooner the night he died. He was +just back from a long cruise to the westward, fishing beche-de-mer and +sandalwood trading. All the beach knows the tale.” + +Pankburn shook his head. + +“Go on,” he urged. + +“It was before my time, of course,” Grief explained. “I only tell what +I've heard. Next came the Ecuadoran cruiser, of all directions, in from +the westward, and bound home. Her officers recognized the spikes. Johnny +Black was dead. They got hold of his mate and logbook. Away to the +westward went she. Six months after, again bound home, she dropped in at +Peenoo-Peenee. She had failed, and the tale leaked out.” + +“When the revolutionists were marching on Guayaquil,” Pankburn took it +up, “the federal officers, believing a defence of the city hopeless, +salted down the government treasure chest, something like a million +dollars gold, but all in English coinage, and put it on board the +American schooner _Flirt_. They were going to run at daylight. The +American captain skinned out in the middle of the night. Go on.” + +“It's an old story,” Grief resumed. “There was no other vessel in the +harbour. The federal leaders couldn't run. They put their backs to the +wall and held the city. Rohjas Salced, making a forced march from Quito, +raised the siege. The revolution was broken, and the one ancient steamer +that constituted the Ecuadoran navy was sent in pursuit of the _Flirt_. +They caught her, between the Banks Group and the New Hebrides, hove +to and flying distress signals. The captain had died the day +before--blackwater fever.” + +“And the mate?” Pankburn challenged. + +“The mate had been killed a week earlier by the natives on one of the +Banks, when they sent a boat in for water. There were no navigators +left. The men were put to the torture. It was beyond international law. +They wanted to confess, but couldn't. They told of the three spikes in +the trees on the beach, but where the island was they did not know. To +the westward, far to the westward, was all they knew. The tale now goes +two ways. One is that they all died under the torture. The other is that +the survivors were swung at the yardarm. At any rate, the Ecuadoran +cruiser went home without the treasure. Johnny Black brought the three +spikes to Peenoo-Peenee, and left them at German Oscar's, but how and +where he found them he never told.” + +Pankburn looked hard at the whiskey bottle. + +“Just two fingers,” he whimpered. + +Grief considered, and poured a meagre drink. Pankburn's eyes sparkled, +and he took new lease of life. + +“And this is where I come in with the missing details,” he said. “Johnny +Black did tell. He told my father. Wrote him from Levuka, before he came +on to die at Peenoo-Peenee. My father had saved his life one rough-house +night in Valparaiso. A Chink pearler, out of Thursday Island, +prospecting for new grounds to the north of New Guinea, traded for the +three spikes with a nigger. Johnny Black bought them for copper weight. +He didn't dream any more than the Chink, but coming back he stopped for +hawksbill turtle at the very beach where you say the mate of the +_Flirt_ was killed. Only he wasn't killed. The Banks Islanders held +him prisoner, and he was dying of necrosis of the jawbone, caused by an +arrow wound in the fight on the beach. Before he died he told the yarn +to Johnny Black. Johnny Black wrote my father from Levuka. He was at the +end of his rope--cancer. My father, ten years afterward, when captain of +the _Perry_, got the spikes from German Oscar. And from my father, last +will and testament, you know, came the spikes and the data. I have the +island, the latitude and longitude of the beach where the three spikes +were nailed in the trees. The spikes are up at Lavina's now. The +latitude and longitude are in my head. Now what do you think?” + +“Fishy,” was Grief's instant judgment. “Why didn't your father go and +get it himself?” + +“Didn't need it. An uncle died and left him a fortune. He retired from +the navy, ran foul of an epidemic of trained nurses in Boston, and my +mother got a divorce. Also, she fell heir to an income of something like +thirty thousand dollars, and went to live in New Zealand. I was divided +between them, half-time New Zealand, half-time United States, until my +father's death last year. Now my mother has me altogether. He left me +his money--oh, a couple of millions--but my mother has had guardians +appointed on account of the drink. I'm worth all kinds of money, but I +can't touch a penny save what is doled out to me. But the old man, who +had got the tip on my drinking, left me the three spikes and the data +thereunto pertaining. Did it through his lawyers, unknown to my mother; +said it beat life insurance, and that if I had the backbone to go and +get it I could drink my back teeth awash until I died. Millions in the +hands of my guardians, slathers of shekels of my mother's that'll be +mine if she beats me to the crematory, another million waiting to be dug +up, and in the meantime I'm cadging on Lavina for two drinks a day. It's +hell, isn't it?--when you consider my thirst.” + +“Where's the island?” + +“It's a long way from here.” + +“Name it.” + +“Not on your life, Captain Grief. You're making an easy half-million out +of this. You will sail under my directions, and when we're well to sea +and on our way I'll tell you and not before.” + +Grief shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the subject. + +“When I've given you another drink I'll send the boat ashore with you,” + he said. + +Pankburn was taken aback. For at least five minutes he debated with +himself, then licked his lips and surrendered. + +“If you promise to go, I'll tell you now.” + +“Of course I'm willing to go. That's why I asked you. Name the island.” + +Pankburn looked at the bottle. + +“I'll take that drink now, Captain.” + +“No you won't. That drink was for you if you went ashore. If you are +going to tell me the island, you must do it in your sober senses.” + +“Francis Island, if you will have it. Bougainville named it Barbour +Island.” + +“Off there all by its lonely in the Little Coral Sea,” Grief said. “I +know it. Lies between New Ireland and New Guinea. A rotten hole now, +though it was all right when the _Flirt_ drove in the spikes and the +Chink pearler traded for them. The steamship _Castor_, recruiting labour +for the Upolu plantations, was cut off there with all hands two years +ago. I knew her captain well. The Germans sent a cruiser, shelled the +bush, burned half a dozen villages, killed a couple of niggers and a lot +of pigs, and--and that was all. The niggers always were bad there, but +they turned really bad forty years ago. That was when they cut off a +whaler. Let me see? What was her name?” + +He stepped to the bookshelf, drew out the bulky “South Pacific +Directory,” and ran through its pages. + +“Yes. Here it is. Francis, or Barbour,” he skimmed. “Natives warlike and +treacherous--Melanesian--cannibals. Whaleship _Western_ cut off--that +was her name. Shoals--points--anchorages--ah, Redscar, Owen Bay, +Likikili Bay, that's more like it; deep indentation, mangrove +swamps, good holding in nine fathoms when white scar in bluff bears +west-southwest.” Grief looked up. “That's your beach, Pankburn, I'll +swear.” + +“Will you go?” the other demanded eagerly. + +Grief nodded. + +“It sounds good to me. Now if the story had been of a hundred millions, +or some such crazy sum, I wouldn't look at it for a moment. We'll sail +to-morrow, but under one consideration. You are to be absolutely under +my orders.” + +His visitor nodded emphatically and joyously. + +“And that means no drink.” + +“That's pretty hard,” Pankburn whined. + +“It's my terms. I'm enough of a doctor to see you don't come to harm. +And you are to work--hard work, sailor's work. You'll stand regular +watches and everything, though you eat and sleep aft with us.” + +“It's a go.” Pankburn put out his hand to ratify the agreement. “If it +doesn't kill me,” he added. + +David Grief poured a generous three-fingers into the tumbler and +extended it. + +“Then here's your last drink. Take it.” + +Pankburn's hand went halfway out. With a sudden spasm of resolution, he +hesitated, threw back his shoulders, and straightened up his head. + +“I guess I won't,” he began, then, feebly surrendering to the gnaw of +desire, he reached hastily for the glass, as if in fear that it would be +withdrawn. + + + + +IV + +It is a long traverse from Papeete in the Societies to the Little Coral +Sea--from 100 west longitude to 150 east longitude--as the crow flies +the equivalent to a voyage across the Atlantic. But the _Kittiwake_ did +not go as the crow flies. David Grief's numerous interests diverted +her course many times. He stopped to take a look-in at uninhabited Rose +Island with an eye to colonizing and planting cocoa-nuts. Next, he paid +his respects to Tui Manua, of Eastern Samoa, and opened an intrigue for +a share of the trade monopoly of that dying king's three islands. From +Apia he carried several relief agents and a load of trade goods to the +Gilberts. He peeped in at Ontong-Java Atoll, inspected his plantations +on Ysabel, and purchased lands from the salt-water chiefs of +northwestern Malaita. And all along this devious way he made a man of +Aloysius Pankburn. + +That thirster, though he lived aft, was compelled to do the work of a +common sailor. And not only did he take his wheel and lookout, and heave +on sheets and tackles, but the dirtiest and most arduous tasks were +appointed him. Swung aloft in a bosun's chair, he scraped the masts and +slushed down. Holystoning the deck or scrubbing it with fresh limes +made his back ache and developed the wasted, flabby muscles. When +the _Kittiwake_ lay at anchor and her copper bottom was scrubbed with +cocoa-nut husks by the native crew, who dived and did it under water, +Pankburn was sent down on his shift and as many times as any on the +shift. + +“Look at yourself,” Grief said. “You are twice the man you were when you +came on board. You haven't had one drink, you didn't die, and the poison +is pretty well worked out of you. It's the work. It beats trained nurses +and business managers. Here, if you're thirsty. Clap your lips to this.” + +With several deft strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Grief +clipped a triangular piece of shell from the end of a husked +drinking-cocoa-nut. The thin, cool liquid, slightly milky and +effervescent, bubbled to the brim. With a bow, Pankburn took the natural +cup, threw his head back, and held it back till the shell was empty. He +drank many of these nuts each day. The black steward, a New Hebrides boy +sixty years of age, and his assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw to +it that he was continually supplied. + +Pankburn did not object to the hard work. He devoured work, never +shirking and always beating the native sailors in jumping to obey a +command. But his sufferings during the period of driving the alcohol out +of his system were truly heroic. Even when the last shred of the poison +was exuded, the desire, as an obsession, remained in his head. So it +was, when, on his honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he attempted to +put the public houses out of business by drinking up their stocks in +trade. And so it was, at two in the morning, that David Grief found him +in front of the Tivoli, out of which he had been disorderly thrown by +Charley Roberts. Aloysius, as of old, was chanting his sorrows to the +stars. Also, and more concretely, he was punctuating the rhythm with +cobbles of coral stone, which he flung with amazing accuracy through +Charley Roberts's windows. + +David Grief took him away, but not till next morning did he take him +in hand. It was on the deck of the _Kittiwake_, and there was nothing +kindergarten about it. Grief struck him, with bare knuckles, punched him +and punished him--gave him the worst thrashing he had ever received. + +“For the good of your soul, Pankburn,” was the way he emphasized his +blows. “For the good of your mother. For the progeny that will come +after. For the good of the world, and the universe, and the whole race +of man yet to be. And now, to hammer the lesson home, we'll do it all +over again. That, for the good of your soul; and that, for your mother's +sake; and that, for the little children, undreamed of and unborn, whose +mother you'll love for their sakes, and for love's sake, in the lease +of manhood that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on and take +your medicine. I'm not done with you yet. I've only begun. There are +many other reasons which I shall now proceed to expound.” The brown +sailors and the black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far from +them was the questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensible +ways of white men. As for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accord +with the treatment his employer was administering; while Albright, the +supercargo, merely played with his mustache and smiled. They were men +of the sea. They lived life in the rough. And alcohol, in themselves as +well as in other men, was a problem they had learned to handle in ways +not taught in doctors' schools. + +“Boy! A bucket of fresh water and a towel,” Grief ordered, when he had +finished. “Two buckets and two towels,” he added, as he surveyed his own +hands. + +“You're a pretty one,” he said to Pankburn. “You've spoiled everything. +I had the poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reeking +with it. We've got to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know that +pile of old chain on the beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buy +it, and fetch it on board. There must be a hundred and fifty fathoms of +it. Pankburn! To-morrow morning you start in pounding the rust off of +it. When you've done that, you'll sandpaper it. Then you'll paint it. +And nothing else will you do till that chain is as smooth as new.” + +Aloysius Pankburn shook his head. + +“I quit. Francis Island can go to hell for all of me. I'm done with your +slave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. I'm a white man. You can't +treat me this way.” + +“Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board.” + +“I'll have you broken for this!” Aloysius screamed. “You can't stop me.” + +“I can give you another licking,” Grief answered. “And let me tell you +one thing, you besotted whelp, I'll keep on licking you as long as my +knuckles hold out or until you yearn to hammer chain rust. I've taken +you in hand, and I'm going to make a man out of you if I have to kill +you to do it. Now go below and change your clothes. Be ready to turn +to with a hammer this afternoon. Mr. Albright, get that chain aboard +pronto. Mr. Carlsen, send the boats ashore after it. Also, keep your eye +on Pankburn. If he shows signs of keeling over or going into the shakes, +give him a nip--a small one. He may need it after last night.” + + + + +V + +For the rest of the time the _Kittiwake_ lay in Apia Aloysius Pankburn +pounded chain rust. Ten hours a day he pounded. And on the long stretch +across to the Gilberts he still pounded. + +Then came the sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is nine +hundred feet, and every link of all that length was smoothed and +polished as no link ever was before. And when the last link had received +its second coat of black paint, he declared himself. + +“Come on with more dirty work,” he told Grief. “I'll overhaul the other +chains if you say so. And you needn't worry about me any more. I'm not +going to take another drop. I'm going to train up. You got my proud +goat when you beat me, but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily. +Train! I'm going to train till I'm as hard all the way through, and +clean all the way through, as that chain is. And some day, Mister David +Grief, somewhere, somehow, I'm going to be in such shape that I'll lick +you as you licked me. I'm going to pulp your face till your own niggers +won't know you.” + +Grief was jubilant. + +“Now you're talking like a man,” he cried. “The only way you'll ever +lick me is to become a man. And then, maybe--” + +He paused in the hope that the other would catch the suggestion. +Aloysius groped for it, and, abruptly, something akin to illumination +shone in his eyes. + +“And then I won't want to, you mean?” + +Grief nodded. + +“And that's the curse of it,” Aloysius lamented. “I really believe I +won't want to. I see the point. But I'm going to go right on and shape +myself up just the same.” + +The warm, sunburn glow in Grief's face seemed to grow warmer. His hand +went out. + +“Pankburn, I love you right now for that.” + +Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity. + +“Grief,” he mourned, “you've got my goat, you've got my proud goat, and +you've got it permanently, I'm afraid.” + + + + +VI + +On a sultry tropic day, when the last flicker of the far southeast trade +was fading out and the seasonal change for the northwest monsoon was +coming on, the _Kittiwake_ lifted above the sea-rim the jungle-clad +coast of Francis Island. + +Grief, with compass bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano that +marked Redscar, ran past Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze at +the entrance to Likikili Bay. With the two whaleboats out and towing, +and with Carl-sen heaving the lead, the _Kittiwake_ sluggishly entered a +deep and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The mangroves began +at the water's edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, broken here and +there by jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white scar +on the bluff bore west-southwest, the lead vindicated the “Directory,” + and the anchor rumbled down in nine fathoms. + +For the rest of that day and until the afternoon of the day following +they remained on the _Kittiwake_ and waited. No canoes appeared. There +were no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish or +the screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, a +huge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over their +mastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle. + +“There's no use in sending a boat in to be cut up,” Grief said. + +Pankburn was incredulous, and volunteered to go in alone, to swim it if +he couldn't borrow the dingey. + +“They haven't forgotten the German cruiser,” Grief explained. “And I'll +wager that bush is alive with men right now. What do you think, Mr. +Carlsen?” + +That veteran adventurer of the islands was emphatic in his agreement. + +In the late afternoon of the second day Grief ordered a whaleboat into +the water. He took his place in the bow, a live cigarette in his mouth +and a short-fused stick of dynamite in his hand, for he was bent on +shooting a mess of fish. Along the thwarts half a dozen Winchesters were +placed. Albright, who took the steering-sweep, had a Mauser within reach +of hand. They pulled in and along the green wall of vegetation. At times +they rested on the oars in the midst of a profound silence. + +“Two to one the bush is swarming with them--in quids,” Albright +whispered. + +Pankburn listened a moment longer and took the bet. Five minutes later +they sighted a school of mullet. The brown rowers held their oars. Grief +touched the short fuse to his cigarette and threw the stick. So short +was the fuse that the stick exploded in the instant after it struck the +water. And in that same instant the bush exploded into life. There were +wild yells of defiance, and black and naked bodies leaped forward like +apes through the mangroves. + +In the whaleboat every rifle was lifted. Then came the wait. A hundred +blacks, some few armed with ancient Sniders, but the greater portion +armed with tomahawks, fire-hardened spears, and bone-tipped arrows, +clustered on the roots that rose out of the bay. No word was spoken. +Each party watched the other across twenty feet of water. An old, +one-eyed black, with a bristly face, rested a Snider on his hip, the +muzzle directed at Albright, who, in turn, covered him back with the +Mauser. A couple of minutes of this tableau endured. The stricken fish +rose to the surface or struggled half-stunned in the clear depths. + +“It's all right, boys,” Grief said quietly. “Put down your guns and +over the side with you. Mr. Albright, toss the tobacco to that one-eyed +brute.” + +While the Rapa men dived for the fish, Albright threw a bundle of +trade tobacco ashore. The one-eyed man nodded his head and writhed his +features in an attempt at amiability. Weapons were lowered, bows unbent, +and arrows put back in their quivers. + +“They know tobacco,” Grief announced, as they rowed back aboard. “We'll +have visitors. You'll break out a case of tobacco, Mr. Albright, and a +few trade-knives. There's a canoe now.” + +Old One-Eye, as befitted a chief and leader, paddled out alone, facing +peril for the rest of the tribe. As Carlsen leaned over the rail to help +the visitor up, he turned his head and remarked casually: + +“They've dug up the money, Mr. Grief. The old beggar's loaded with it.” + +One-Eye floundered down on deck, grinning appeasingly and failing to +hide the fear he had overcome but which still possessed him. He was lame +of one leg, and this was accounted for by a terrible scar, inches deep, +which ran down the thigh from hip to knee. No clothes he wore whatever, +not even a string, but his nose, perforated in a dozen places and each +perforation the setting for a carved spine of bone, bristled like a +porcupine. Around his neck and hanging down on his dirty chest was a +string of gold sovereigns. His ears were hung with silver half-crowns, +and from the cartilage separating his nostrils depended a big English +penny, tarnished and green, but unmistakable. + +“Hold on, Grief,” Pankburn said, with perfectly assumed carelessness. +“You say they know only beads and tobacco. Very well. You follow my +lead. They've found the treasure, and we've got to trade them out of it. +Get the whole crew aside and lecture them that they are to be interested +only in the pennies. Savve? Gold coins must be beneath contempt, and +silver coins merely tolerated. Pennies are to be the only desirable +things.” + +Pankburn took charge of the trading. For the penny in One-Eye's nose he +gave ten sticks of tobacco. Since each stick cost David Grief a cent, +the bargain was manifestly unfair. But for the half-crowns Pankburn gave +only one stick each. The string of sovereigns he refused to consider. +The more he refused, the more One-Eye insisted on a trade. At last, with +an appearance of irritation and anger, and as a palpable concession, +Pankburn gave two sticks for the string, which was composed of ten +sovereigns. + +“I take my hat off to you,” Grief said to Pankburn that night at dinner. +“The situation is patent. You've reversed the scale of value. They'll +figure the pennies as priceless possessions and the sovereigns as +beneath price. Result: they'll hang on to the pennies and force us to +trade for sovereigns. Pankburn, I drink your health! Boy!--another cup +of tea for Mr. Pankburn.” + + + + +VII + +Followed a golden week. From dawn till dark a row of canoes rested +on their paddles two hundred feet away. This was the deadline. Rapa +sailors, armed with rifles, maintained it. But one canoe at a time was +permitted alongside, and but one black at a time was permitted to come +over the rail. Here, under the awning, relieving one another in hourly +shifts, the four white men carried on the trade. The rate of exchange +was that established by Pankburn with One-Eye. Five sovereigns fetched +a stick of tobacco; a hundred sovereigns, twenty sticks. Thus, a +crafty-eyed cannibal would deposit on the table a thousand dollars in +gold, and go back over the rail, hugely-satisfied, with forty cents' +worth of tobacco in his hand. + +“Hope we've got enough tobacco to hold out,” Carlsen muttered dubiously, +as another case was sawed in half. + +Albright laughed. + +“We've got fifty cases below,” he said, “and as I figure it, three cases +buy a hundred thousand dollars. There was only a million dollars buried, +so thirty cases ought to get it. Though, of course, we've got to allow +a margin for the silver and the pennies. That Ecuadoran bunch must have +salted down all the coin in sight.” + +Very few pennies and shillings appeared, though Pankburn continually and +anxiously inquired for them. Pennies were the one thing he seemed to +desire, and he made his eyes flash covetously whenever one was produced. +True to his theory, the savages concluded that the gold, being of slight +value, must be disposed of first. A penny, worth fifty times as much as +a sovereign, was something to retain and treasure. Doubtless, in their +jungle-lairs, the wise old gray-beards put their heads together and +agreed to raise the price on pennies when the worthless gold was all +worked off. Who could tell? Mayhap the strange white men could be made +to give even twenty sticks for a priceless copper. + +By the end of the week the trade went slack. There was only the +slightest dribble of gold. An occasional penny was reluctantly disposed +of for ten sticks, while several thousand dollars in silver came in. + +On the morning of the eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beards +had matured their plan and were demanding twenty sticks for a penny, +One-Eye delivered the new rate of exchange. The white men appeared to +take it with great seriousness, for they stood together debating in low +voices. Had One-Eye understood English he would have been enlightened. + +“We've got just a little over eight hundred thousand, not counting the +silver,” Grief said. “And that's about all there is. The bush tribes +behind have most probably got the other two hundred thousand. Return +in three months, and the salt-water crowd will have traded back for it; +also they will be out of tobacco by that time.” + +“It would be a sin to buy pennies,” Albright grinned. “It goes against +the thrifty grain of my trader's soul.” + +“There's a whiff of land-breeze stirring,” Grief said, looking at +Pankburn. “What do you say?” + +Pankburn nodded. + +“Very well.” Grief measured the faintness and irregularity of the wind +against his cheek. + +“Mr. Carlsen, heave short, and get off the gaskets. And stand by with +the whaleboats to tow. This breeze is not dependable.” + +He picked up a part case of tobacco, containing six or seven hundred +sticks, put it in One-Eye's hands, and helped that bewildered savage +over the rail. As the foresail went up the mast, a wail of consternation +arose from the canoes lying along the dead-line. And as the anchor +broke out and the _Kittiwake's_ head paid off in the light breeze, old +One-Eye, daring the rifles levelled on him, paddled alongside and +made frantic signs of his tribe's willingness to trade pennies for ten +sticks. + +“Boy!--a drinking nut,” Pankburn called. + +“It's Sydney Heads for you,” Grief said. “And then what?” + +“I'm coming back with you for that two hundred thousand,” Pankburn +answered. “In the meantime I'm going to build an island schooner. Also, +I'm going to call those guardians of mine before the court to show cause +why my father's money should not be turned over to me. Show cause? I'll +show them cause why it should.” + +He swelled his biceps proudly under the thin sleeve, reached for the two +black stewards, and put them above his head like a pair of dumbbells. + +“Come on! Swing out on that fore-boom-tackle!” Carlsen shouted from aft, +where the mainsail was being winged out. + +Pankburn dropped the stewards and raced for it, beating a Rapa sailor by +two jumps to the hauling part. + + + + +Chapter Three--THE DEVILS OF FUATINO + + + + +I + +Of his many schooners, ketches and cutters that nosed about among the +coral isles of the South Seas, David Grief loved most the _Rattler_--a +yacht-like schooner of ninety tons with so swift a pair of heels that +she had made herself famous, in the old days, opium-smuggling from San +Diego to Puget Sound, raiding the seal-rookeries of Bering Sea, and +running arms in the Far East. A stench and an abomination to government +officials, she had been the joy of all sailormen, and the pride of the +shipwrights who built her. Even now, after forty years of driving, she +was still the same old _Rattler_, fore-reaching in the same marvellous +manner that compelled sailors to see in order to believe and that +punctuated many an angry discussion with words and blows on the beaches +of all the ports from Valparaiso to Manila Bay. + +On this night, close-hauled, her big mainsail preposterously flattened +down, her luffs pulsing emptily on the lift of each smooth swell, she +was sliding an easy four knots through the water on the veriest whisper +of a breeze. For an hour David Grief had been leaning on the rail at the +lee fore-rigging, gazing overside at the steady phosphorescence of her +gait. The faint back-draught from the headsails fanned his cheek and +chest with a wine of coolness, and he was in an ecstasy of appreciation +of the schooner's qualities. + +“Eh!--She's a beauty, Taute, a beauty,” he said to the Kanaka lookout, +at the same time stroking the teak of the rail with an affectionate +hand. + +“Ay, skipper,” the Kanaka answered in the rich, big-chested tones of +Polynesia. “Thirty years I know ships, but never like 'this. On Raiatea +we call her _Fanauao_.” + +“The Dayborn,” Grief translated the love-phrase. “Who named her so?” + +About to answer, Taute peered ahead with sudden intensity. Grief joined +him in the gaze. + +“Land,” said Taute. + +“Yes; Fuatino,” Grief agreed, his eyes still fixed on the spot where +the star-luminous horizon was gouged by a blot of blackness. “It's all +right. I'll tell the captain.” + +The _Rattler_ slid along until the loom of the island could be seen as +well as sensed, until the sleepy roar of breakers and the blatting of +goats could be heard, until the wind, off the land, was flower-drenched +with perfume. + +“If it wasn't a crevice, she could run the passage a night like this,” + Captain Glass remarked regretfully, as he watched the wheel lashed hard +down by the steersman. + +The _Rattler_, run off shore a mile, had been hove to to wait until +daylight ere she attempted the perilous entrance to Fuatino. It was a +perfect tropic night, with no hint of rain or squall. For'ard, wherever +their tasks left them, the Raiatea sailors sank down to sleep on deck. +Aft, the captain and mate and Grief spread their beds with similar +languid unconcern. They lay on their blankets, smoking and murmuring +sleepy conjectures about Mataara, the Queen of Fuatino, and about the +love affair between her daughter, Naumoo, and Motuaro. + +“They're certainly a romantic lot,” Brown, the mate, said. “As romantic +as we whites.” + +“As romantic as Pilsach,” Grief laughed, “and that is going some. How +long ago was it, Captain, that he jumped you?” + +“Eleven years,” Captain Glass grunted resentfully. + +“Tell me about it,” Brown pleaded. “They say he's never left Fuatino +since. Is that right?” + +“Right O,” the captain rumbled. “He's in love with his wife--the little +hussy! Stole him from me, and as good a sailorman as the trade has ever +seen--if he is a Dutchman.” + +“German,” Grief corrected. + +“It's all the same,” was the retort. “The sea was robbed of a good man +that night he went ashore and Notutu took one look at him. I reckon they +looked good to each other. Before you could say skat, she'd put a wreath +of some kind of white flowers on his head, and in five minutes they were +off down the beach, like a couple of kids, holding hands and laughing. I +hope he's blown that big coral patch out of the channel. I always start +a sheet or two of copper warping past.” + +“Go on with the story,” Brown urged. + +“That's all. He was finished right there. Got married that night. Never +came on board again. I looked him up next day. Found him in a straw +house in the bush, barelegged, a white savage, all mixed up with flowers +and things and playing a guitar. Looked like a bally ass. Told me to +send his things ashore. I told him I'd see him damned first. And that's +all. You'll see her to-morrow. They've got three kiddies now--wonderful +little rascals. I've a phonograph down below for him, and about a +million records.” + +“And then you made him trader?” the mate inquired of Grief. + +“What else could I do? Fuatino is a love island, and Filsach is a lover. +He knows the native, too--one of the best traders I've got, or ever had. +He's responsible. You'll see him to-morrow.” + +“Look here, young man,” Captain Glass rumbled threateningly at his mate. +“Are you romantic? Because if you are, on board you stay. Fuatino's the +island of romantic insanity. Everybody's in love with somebody. They +live on love. It's in the milk of the cocoa-nuts, or the air, or the +sea. The history of the island for the last ten thousand years is +nothing but love affairs. I know. I've talked with the old men. And if I +catch you starting down the beach hand in hand--” + +His sudden cessation caused both the other men to look at him. They +followed his gaze, which passed across them to the main rigging, and saw +what he saw, a brown hand and arm, muscular and wet, being joined from +overside by a second brown hand and arm. A head followed, thatched with +long elfin locks, and then a face, with roguish black eyes, lined with +the marks of wildwood's laughter. + +“My God!” Brown breathed. “It's a faun--a sea-faun.” + +“It's the Goat Man,” said Glass. + +“It is Mauriri,” said Grief. “He is my own blood brother by sacred +plight of native custom. His name is mine, and mine is his.” + +Broad brown shoulders and a magnificent chest rose above the rail, and, +with what seemed effortless ease, the whole grand body followed over +the rail and noiselessly trod the deck. Brown, who might have been other +things than the mate of an island schooner, was enchanted. All that he +had ever gleaned from the books proclaimed indubitably the faun-likeness +of this visitant of the deep. “But a sad faun,” was the young man's +judgment, as the golden-brown woods god strode forward to where David +Grief sat up with outstretched hand. + +“David,” said David Grief. + +“Mauriri, Big Brother,” said Mauriri. + +And thereafter, in the custom of men who have pledged blood brotherhood, +each called the other, not by the other's name, but by his own. Also, +they talked in the Polynesian tongue of Fuatino, and Brown could only +sit and guess. + +“A long swim to say _talofa_,” Grief said, as the other sat and streamed +water on the deck. + +“Many days and nights have I watched for your coming, Big Brother,” + Mauriri replied. “I have sat on the Big Rock, where the dynamite +is kept, of which I have been made keeper. I saw you come up to the +entrance and run back into darkness. I knew you waited till morning, and +I followed. Great trouble has come upon us. Mataara has cried these many +days for your coming. She is an old woman, and Motauri is dead, and she +is sad.” + +“Did he marry Naumoo?” Grief asked, after he had shaken his head and +sighed by the custom. + +“Yes. In the end they ran to live with the goats, till Mataara forgave, +when they returned to live with her in the Big House. But he is now +dead, and Naumoo soon will die. Great is our trouble, Big Brother. Tori +is dead, and Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and Nari, and Pilsach, and others.” + +“Pilsach, too!” Grief exclaimed. “Has there been a sickness?” + +“There has been much killing. Listen, Big Brother, Three weeks ago a +strange schooner came. From the Big Rock I saw her topsails above the +sea. She towed in with her boats, but they did not warp by the big +patch, and she pounded many times. She is now on the beach, where they +are strengthening the broken timbers. There are eight white men on +board. They have women from some island far to the east. The women +talk a language in many ways like ours, only different. But we can +understand. They say they were stolen by the men on the schooner. We do +not know, but they sing and dance and are happy.” + +“And the men?” Grief interrupted. + +“They talk French. I know, for there was a mate on your schooner who +talked French long ago. There are two chief men, and they do not look +like the others. They have blue eyes like you, and they are devils. One +is a bigger devil than the other. The other six are also devils. They do +not pay us for our yams, and taro, and breadfruit. They take everything +from us, and if we complain they kill us. Thus was killed Tori, and +Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and others. We cannot fight, for we have no +guns--only two or three old guns. + +“They ill-treat our women. Thus was killed Motuaro, who made defence of +Naumoo, whom they have now taken on board their schooner. It was because +of this that Pilsach was killed. Him the chief of the two chief men, the +Big Devil, shot once in his whaleboat, and twice when he tried to crawl +up the sand of the beach. Pilsach was a brave man, and Notutu now sits +in the house and cries without end. Many of the people are afraid, and +have run to live with the goats. But there is not food for all in the +high mountains. And the men will not go out and fish, and they work no +more in the gardens because of the devils who take all they have. And we +are ready to fight. + +“Big Brother, we need guns, and much ammunition. I sent word before I +swam out to you, and the men are waiting. The strange white men do not +know you are come. Give me a boat, and the guns, and I will go back +before the sun. And when you come to-morrow we will be ready for the +word from you to kill the strange white men. They must be killed. Big +Brother, you have ever been of the blood with us, and the men and women +have prayed to many gods for your coming. And you are come.” + +“I will go in the boat with you,” Grief said. + +“No, Big Brother,” was Mauriri's reply. “You must be with the schooner. +The strange white men will fear the schooner, not us. We will have the +guns, and they will not know. It is only when they see your schooner +come that they will be alarmed. Send the young man there with the boat.” + +So it was that Brown, thrilling with all the romance and adventure he +had read and guessed and never lived, took his place in the sternsheets +of a whaleboat, loaded with rifles and cartridges, rowed by four Baiatea +sailors, steered by a golden-brown, sea-swimming faun, and directed +through the warm tropic darkness toward the half-mythical love island of +Fuatino, which had been invaded by twentieth century pirates. + + + + +II + +If a line be drawn between Jaluit, in the Marshall Group, and +Bougainville, in the Solomons, and if this line be bisected at two +degrees south of the equator by a line drawn from Ukuor, in the +Carolines, the high island of Fuatino will be raised in that sun-washed +stretch of lonely sea. Inhabited by a stock kindred to the Hawaiian, +the Samoan, the Tahitian, and the Maori, Fuatino becomes the apex of the +wedge driven by Polynesia far to the west and in between Melanesia and +Micronesia. And it was Fuatino that David Grief raised next morning, +two miles to the east and in direct line with the rising sun. The same +whisper of a breeze held, and the _Rattler_ slid through the smooth sea +at a rate that would have been eminently proper for an island schooner +had the breeze been thrice as strong. + +Fuatino was nothing else than an ancient crater, thrust upward from the +sea-bottom by some primordial cataclysm. The western portion, broken +and crumbled to sea level, was the entrance to the crater itself, which +constituted the harbour. Thus, Fuatino was like a rugged horseshoe, the +heel pointing to the west. And into the opening at the heel the Rattler +steered. Captain Glass, binoculars in hand and peering at the chart made +by himself, which was spread on top the cabin, straightened up with an +expression on his face that was half alarm, half resignation. + +“It's coming,” he said. “Fever. It wasn't due till to-morrow. It always +hits me hard, Mr. Grief. In five minutes I'll be off my head. You'll +have to con the schooner in. Boy! Get my bunk ready! Plenty of blankets! +Fill that hot-water bottle! It's so calm, Mr. Grief, that I think you +can pass the big patch without warping. Take the leading wind and shoot +her. She's the only craft in the South Pacific that can do it, and I +know you know the trick. You can scrape the Big Rock by just watching +out for the main boom.” + +He had talked rapidly, almost like a drunken man, as his reeling brain +battled with the rising shock of the malarial stroke. When he stumbled +toward the companionway, his face was purpling and mottling as if +attacked by some monstrous inflammation or decay. His eyes were setting +in a glassy bulge, his hands shaking, his teeth clicking in the spasms +of chill. + +“Two hours to get the sweat,” he chattered with a ghastly grin. “And a +couple more and I'll be all right. I know the damned thing to the last +minute it runs its course. Y-y-you t-t-take ch-ch-ch-ch----” + +His voice faded away in a weak stutter as he collapsed down into the +cabin and his employer took charge. The _Rattler_ was just entering the +passage. The heels of the horseshoe island were two huge mountains of +rock a thousand feet high, each almost broken off from the mainland and +connected with it by a low and narrow peninsula. Between the heels was +a half-mile stretch, all but blocked by a reef of coral extending across +from the south heel. The passage, which Captain Glass had called a +crevice, twisted into this reef, curved directly to the north heel, and +ran along the base of the perpendicular rock. At this point, with the +main-boom almost grazing the rock on the port side, Grief, peering down +on the starboard side, could see bottom less than two fathoms beneath +and shoaling steeply. With a whaleboat towing for steerage and as a +precaution against back-draughts from the cliff, and taking advantage of +a fan of breeze, he shook the Rattler full into it and glided by the big +coral patch without warping. As it was, he just scraped, but so softly +as not to start the copper. + +The harbour of Fuatino opened before him. It was a circular sheet of +water, five miles in diameter, rimmed with white coral beaches, from +which the verdure-clad slopes rose swiftly to the frowning crater walls. +The crests of the walls were saw-toothed, volcanic peaks, capped and +halo'd with captive trade-wind clouds. Every nook and crevice of the +disintegrating lava gave foothold to creeping, climbing vines and +trees--a green foam of vegetation. Thin streams of water, that were +mere films of mist, swayed and undulated downward in sheer descents +of hundreds of feet. And to complete the magic of the place, the warm, +moist air was heavy with the perfume of the yellow-blossomed _cassi_. + +Fanning along against light, vagrant airs, the _Rattler_ worked in. +Calling the whale-boat on board, Grief searched out the shore with his +binoculars. There was no life. In the hot blaze of tropic sun the place +slept. There was no sign of welcome. Up the beach, on the north shore, +where the fringe of cocoanut palms concealed the village, he could see +the black bows of the canoes in the canoe-houses. On the beach, on even +keel, rested the strange schooner. Nothing moved on board of her or +around her. Not until the beach lay fifty yards away did Grief let go +the anchor in forty fathoms. Out in the middle, long years before, he +had sounded three hundred fathoms without reaching bottom, which was to +be expected of a healthy crater-pit like Fuatino. As the chain roared +and surged through the hawse-pipe he noticed a number of native women, +lusciously large as only those of Polynesia are, in flowing _ahu's_, +flower-crowned, stream out on the deck of the schooner on the beach. +Also, and what they did not see, he saw from the galley the squat figure +of a man steal for'ard, drop to the sand, and dive into the green screen +of bush. + +While the sails were furled and gasketed, awnings stretched, and sheets +and tackles coiled harbour fashion, David Grief paced the deck and +looked vainly for a flutter of life elsewhere than on the strange +schooner. Once, beyond any doubt, he heard the distant crack of a rifle +in the direction of the Big Rock. There were no further shots, and he +thought of it as some hunter shooting a wild goat. + +At the end of another hour Captain Glass, under a mountain of blankets, +had ceased shivering and was in the inferno of a profound sweat. + +“I'll be all right in half an hour,” he said weakly. + +“Very well,” Grief answered. “The place is dead, and I'm going ashore to +see Mataara and find out the situation.” + +“It's a tough bunch; keep your eyes open,” the captain warned him. “If +you're not back in an hour, send word off.” + +Grief took the steering-sweep, and four of his Raiatea men bent to the +oars. As they landed on the beach he looked curiously at the women under +the schooner's awning. He waved his hand tentatively, and they, after +giggling, waved back. + +“_Talofa!_” he called. + +They understood the greeting, but replied, “_Iorana_,” and he knew they +came from the Society Group. + +“Huahine,” one of his sailors unhesitatingly named their island. Grief +asked them whence they came, and with giggles and laughter they replied, +“Huahine.” + +“It looks like old Dupuy's schooner,” Grief said, in Tahitian, speaking +in a low voice. “Don't look too hard. What do you think, eh? Isn't it +the _Valetta?_” + +As the men climbed out and lifted the whale-boat slightly up the beach +they stole careless glances at the vessel. + +“It is the _Valetta_,” Taute said. “She carried her topmast away seven +years ago. At Papeete they rigged a new one. It was ten feet shorter. +That is the one.” + +“Go over and talk with the women, you boys. You can almost see Huahine +from Raiatea, and you'll be sure to know some of them. Find out all you +can. And if any of the white men show up, don't start a row.” + +An army of hermit crabs scuttled and rustled away before him as he +advanced up the beach, but under the palms no pigs rooted and grunted. +The cocoanuts lay where they had fallen, and at the copra-sheds there +were no signs of curing. Industry and tidiness had vanished. Grass +house after grass house he found deserted. Once he came upon an old +man, blind, toothless, prodigiously wrinkled, who sat in the shade and +babbled with fear when he spoke to him. It was as if the place had been +struck with the plague, was Grief's thought, as he finally approached +the Big House. All was desolation and disarray. There were no +flower-crowned men and maidens, no brown babies rolling in the shade of +the avocado trees. In the doorway, crouched and rocking back and forth, +sat Mataara, the old queen. She wept afresh at sight of him, divided +between the tale of her woe and regret that no follower was left to +dispense to him her hospitality. + +“And so they have taken Naumoo,” she finished. “Motauri is dead. My +people have fled and are starving with the goats. And there is no one to +open for you even a drinking cocoa-nut. O Brother, your white brothers +be devils.” + +“They are no brothers of mine, Mataara,” Grief consoled. “They are +robbers and pigs, and I shall clean the island of them----” + +He broke off to whirl half around, his hand flashing to his waist and +back again, the big Colt's levelled at the figure of a man, bent double, +that rushed at him from out of the trees. He did not pull the trigger, +nor did the man pause till he had flung himself headlong at Grief's +feet and begun to pour forth a stream of uncouth and awful noises. He +recognized the creature as the one he had seen steal from the _Valetta_ +and dive into the bush; but not until he raised him up and watched +the contortions of the hare-lipped mouth could he understand what he +uttered. + +“Save me, master, save me!” the man yammered, in English, though he was +unmistakably a South Sea native. “I know you! Save me!” + +And thereat he broke into a wild outpour of incoherence that did +not cease until Grief seized him by the shoulders and shook him into +silence. + +“I know you,” Grief said. “You were cook in the French Hotel at Papeete +two years ago. Everybody called you 'Hare-Lip.'” + +The man nodded violently. + +“I am now cook of the _Valetta_,” he spat and spluttered, his mouth +writhing in a fearful struggle with its defect. “I know you. I saw you +at the hotel. I saw you at Lavina's. I saw you on the _Kittiwake_. I saw +you at the _Mariposa_ wharf. You are Captain Grief, and you will save +me. Those men are devils. They killed Captain Dupuy. Me they made kill +half the crew. Two they shot from the cross-trees. The rest they shot +in the water. I knew them all. They stole the girls from Huahine. They +added to their strength with jail-men from Noumea. They robbed the +traders in the New Hebrides. They killed the trader at Vanikori, and +stole two women there. They----” + +But Grief no longer heard. Through the trees, from the direction of +the harbour, came a rattle of rifles, and he started on the run for the +beach. Pirates from Tahiti and convicts from New Caledonia! A pretty +bunch of desperadoes that even now was attacking his schooner. Hare-Lip +followed, still spluttering and spitting his tale of the white devils' +doings. + +The rifle-firing ceased as abruptly as it had begun, but Grief ran +on, perplexed by ominous conjectures, until, in a turn of the path, he +encountered Mauriri running toward him from the beach. + +“Big Brother,” the Goat Man panted, “I was too late. They have taken +your schooner. Come! For now they will seek for you.” + +He started back up the path away from the beach. + +“Where is Brown?” Grief demanded. + +“On the Big Rock. I will tell you afterward. Come now!” + +“But my men in the whaleboat?” + +Mauriri was in an agony of apprehension. + +“They are with the women on the strange schooner. They will not be +killed. I tell you true. The devils want sailors. But you they will +kill. Listen!” From the water, in a cracked tenor voice, came a French +hunting song. “They are landing on the beach. They have taken your +schooner--that I saw. Come!” + + + + +III + +Careless of his own life and skin, nevertheless David Grief was +possessed of no false hardihood. He knew when to fight and when to run, +and that this was the time for running he had no doubt. Up the path, +past the old men sitting in the shade, past Mataara crouched in the +doorway of the Big House, he followed at the heels of Mauriri. At his +own heels, doglike, plodded Hare-Lip. From behind came the cries of the +hunters, but the pace Mauriri led them was heartbreaking. The broad path +narrowed, swung to the right, and pitched upward. The last grass house +was left, and through high thickets of _cassi_ and swarms of great +golden wasps the way rose steeply until it became a goat-track. Pointing +upward to a bare shoulder of volcanic rock, Mauriri indicated the trail +across its face. + +“Past that we are safe, Big Brother,” he said. “The white devils never +dare it, for there are rocks we roll down on their heads, and there +is no other path. Always do they stop here and shoot when we cross the +rock. Come!” + +A quarter of an hour later they paused where the trail went naked on the +face of the rock. + +“Wait, and when you come, come quickly,” Mauriri cautioned. + +He sprang into the blaze of sunlight, and from below several rifles +pumped rapidly. Bullets smacked about him, and puffs of stone-dust +flew out, but he won safely across. Grief followed, and so near did +one bullet come that the dust of its impact stung his cheek. Nor was +Hare-Lip struck, though he essayed the passage more slowly. + +For the rest of the day, on the greater heights, they lay in a lava glen +where terraced taro and _papaia_ grew. And here Grief made his plans and +learned the fulness of the situation. + +“It was ill luck,” Mauriri said. “Of all nights this one night was +selected by the white devils to go fishing. It was dark as we came +through the passage. They were in boats and canoes. Always do they have +their rifles with them. One Raiatea man they shot. Brown was very brave. +We tried to get by to the top of the bay, but they headed us off, and we +were driven in between the Big Rock and the village. We saved the guns +and all the ammunition, but they got the boat. Thus they learned of your +coming. Brown is now on this side of the Big Rock with the guns and the +ammunition.” + +“But why didn't he go over the top of the Big Rock and give me warning +as I came in from the sea?” Grief criticised. + +“They knew not the way. Only the goats and I know the way. And this I +forgot, for I crept through the bush to gain the water and swim to you. +But the devils were in the bush shooting at Brown and the Raiatea men; +and me they hunted till daylight, and through the morning they hunted +me there in the low-lying land. Then you came in your schooner, and they +watched till you went ashore, and I got away through the bush, but you +were already ashore.” + +“You fired that shot?” + +“Yes; to warn you. But they were wise and would not shoot back, and it +was my last cartridge.” + +“Now you, Hare-Lip?” Grief said to the _Valetta's_ cook. + +His tale was long and painfully detailed. For a year he had been sailing +out of Tahiti and through the Paumotus on the _Valetta_. Old Dupuy was +owner and captain. On his last cruise he had shipped two strangers in +Tahiti as mate and supercargo. Also, another stranger he carried to be +his agent on Fanriki. Raoul Van Asveld and Carl Lepsius were the names +of the mate and supercargo. + +“They are brothers, I know, for I have heard them talk in the dark, on +deck, when they thought no one listened,” Hare-Lip explained. + +The _Valetta_ cruised through the Low Islands, picking up shell and +pearls at Dupuy's stations. Frans Amundson, the third stranger, relieved +Pierre Gollard at Fanriki. Pierre Gollard came on board to go back to +Tahiti. The natives of Fanriki said he had a quart of pearls to turn +over to Dupuy. The first night out from Fanriki there was shooting +in the cabin. Then the bodies of Dupuy and Pierre Gollard were thrown +overboard. The Tahitian sailors fled to the forecastle. For two days, +with nothing to eat and the _Valetta_ hove to, they remained below. Then +Raoul Van Asveld put poison in the meal he made Hare-Lip cook and carry +for'ard. Half the sailors died. + +“He had a rifle pointed at me, master; what could I do?” Hare-Lip +whimpered. “Of the rest, two went up the rigging and were shot. Fanriki +was ten miles away. The others went overboard to swim. They were shot +as they swam. I, only, lived, and the two devils; for me they wanted to +cook for them. That day, with the breeze, they went back to Fanrika and +took on Frans Amundson, for he was one of them.” + +Then followed Hare-Lip's nightmare experiences as the schooner wandered +on the long reaches to the westward. He was the one living witness and +knew they would have killed him had he not been the cook. At Noumea five +convicts had joined them. Hare-Lip was never permitted ashore at any of +the islands, and Grief was the first outsider to whom he had spoken. + +“And now they will kill me,” Hare-Lip spluttered, “for they will know +I have told you. Yet am I not all a coward, and I will stay with you, +master, and die with you.” + +The Goat Man shook his head and stood up. + +“Lie here and rest,” he said to Grief. “It will be a long swim to-night. +As for this cook-man, I will take him now to the higher places where my +brothers live with the goats.” + + + + +IV + +“It is well that you swim as a man should, Big Brother,” Mauriri +whispered. + +From the lava glen they had descended to the head of the bay and taken +to the water. They swam softly, without splash, Mauriri in the lead. The +black walls of the crater rose about them till it seemed they swam +on the bottom of a great bowl. Above was the sky of faintly luminous +star-dust. Ahead they could see the light which marked the Rattler, and +from her deck, softened by distance, came a gospel hymn played on the +phonograph intended for Pilsach. + +The two swimmers bore to the left, away from the captured schooner. +Laughter and song followed on board after the hymn, then the phonograph +started again. Grief grinned to himself at the appositeness of it as +“Lead, Kindly Light,” floated out over the dark water. + +“We must take the passage and land on the Big Rock,” Mauriri whispered. +“The devils are holding the low land. Listen!” + +Half a dozen rifle shots, at irregular intervals, attested that Brown +still held the Rock and that the pirates had invested the narrow +peninsula. + +At the end of another hour they swam under the frowning loom of the Big +Rock. Mauriri, feeling his way, led the landing in a crevice, up which +for a hundred feet they climbed to a narrow ledge. + +“Stay here,” said Mauriri. “I go to Brown. In the morning I shall +return.” + +“I will go with you, Brother,” Grief said. + +Mauriri laughed in the darkness. + +“Even you, Big Brother, cannot do this thing. I am the Goat Man, and +I only, of all Fuatino, can go over the Big Rock in the night. +Furthermore, it will be the first time that even I have done it. Put out +your hand. You feel it? That is where Pilsach's dynamite is kept. Lie +close beside the wall and you may sleep without falling. I go now.” + +And high above the sounding surf, on a narrow shelf beside a ton of +dynamite, David Grief planned his campaign, then rested his cheek on his +arm and slept. + +In the morning, when Mauriri led him over the summit of the Big Rock, +David Grief understood why he could not have done it in the night. +Despite the accustomed nerve of a sailor for height and precarious +clinging, he marvelled that he was able to do it in the broad light of +day. There were places, always under minute direction of Mauriri, that +he leaned forward, falling, across hundred-foot-deep crevices, until his +outstretched hands struck a grip on the opposing wall and his legs could +then be drawn across after. Once, there was a ten-foot leap, above half +a thousand feet of yawning emptiness and down a fathom's length to a +meagre foothold. And he, despite his cool head, lost it another time on +a shelf, a scant twelve inches wide, where all hand-holds seemed to fail +him. And Mauriri, seeing him sway, swung his own body far out and over +the gulf and passed him, at the same time striking him sharply on the +back to brace his reeling brain. Then it was, and forever after, that he +fully knew why Mauriri had been named the Goat Man. + + + + +V + +The defence of the Big Rock had its good points and its defects. +Impregnable to assault, two men could hold it against ten thousand. +Also, it guarded the passage to open sea. The two schooners, Raoul Van +Asveld, and his cutthroat following were bottled up. Grief, with the ton +of dynamite, which he had removed higher up the rock, was master. This +he demonstrated, one morning, when the schooners attempted to put to +sea. The _Valetta_ led, the whaleboat towing her manned by captured +Fuatino men. Grief and the Goat Man peered straight down from a safe +rock-shelter, three hundred feet above. Their rifles were beside them, +also a glowing fire-stick and a big bundle of dynamite sticks with fuses +and decanators attached. As the whaleboat came beneath, Mauriri shook +his head. + +“They are our brothers. We cannot shoot.” + +For'ard, on the _Valetta_, were several of Grief's own Raiatea sailors. +Aft stood another at the wheel. The pirates were below, or on the other +schooner, with the exception of one who stood, rifle in hand, amidships. +For protection he held Naumoo, the Queen's daughter, close to him. + +“That is the chief devil,” Mauriri whispered, “and his eyes are blue +like yours. He is a terrible man. See! He holds Naumoo that we may not +shoot him.” + +A light air and a slight tide were making into the passage, and the +schooner's progress was slow. + +“Do you speak English?” Grief called down. + +The man startled, half lifted his rifle to the perpendicular, and looked +up. There was something quick and catlike in his movements, and in his +burned blond face a fighting eagerness. It was the face of a killer. + +“Yes,” he answered. “What do you want?” + +“Turn back, or I'll blow your schooner up,” Grief warned. He blew on the +fire-stick and whispered, “Tell Naumoo to break away from him and run +aft.” + +From the _Rattler_, close astern, rifles cracked, and bullets spatted +against the rock. Van Asveld laughed defiantly, and Mauriri called +down in the native tongue to the woman. When directly beneath, Grief, +watching, saw her jerk away from the man. On the instant Grief touched +the fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of the short fuse, +sprang into view on the face of the rock, and dropped the dynamite. Van +Asveld had managed to catch the girl and was struggling with her. The +Goat Man held a rifle on him and waited a chance. The dynamite struck +the deck in a compact package, bounded, and rolled into the port +scupper. Van Asveld saw it and hesitated, then he and the girl ran aft +for their lives. The Goat Man fired, but splintered the corner of the +galley. The spattering of bullets from the _Rattler_ increased, and the +two on the rock crouched low for shelter and waited. Mauriri tried to +see what was happening below, but Grief held him back. + +“The fuse was too long,” he said. “I'll know better next time.” + +It was half a minute before the explosion came. What happened afterward, +for some little time, they could not tell, for the Rattler's marksmen +had got the range and were maintaining a steady fire. Once, fanned by a +couple of bullets, Grief risked a peep. The _Valetta_, her port deck +and rail torn away, was listing and sinking as she drifted back into the +harbour. Climbing on board the _Rattler_ were the men and the Huahine +women who had been hidden in the _Valetta's_ cabin and who had swum for +it under the protecting fire. The Fuatino men who had been towing in the +whaleboat had cast off the line, dashed back through the passage, and +were rowing wildly for the south shore. + +From the shore of the peninsula the discharges of four rifles announced +that Brown and his men had worked through the jungle to the beach and +were taking a hand. The bullets ceased coming, and Grief and Mauriri +joined in with their rifles. But they could do no damage, for the men of +the _Rattler_ were firing from the shelter of the deck-houses, while the +wind and tide carried the schooner farther in. + +There was no sign of the _Valetta_, which had sunk in the deep water of +the crater. + +Two things Raoul Van Asveld did that showed his keenness and coolness +and that elicited Grief's admiration. Under the _Rattler's_ rifle fire +Raoul compelled the fleeing Fuatino men to come in and surrender. And at +the same time, dispatching half his cutthroats in the _Rattler's_ boat, +he threw them ashore and across the peninsula, preventing Brown from +getting away to the main part of the island. And for the rest of the +morning the intermittent shooting told to Grief how Brown was being +driven in to the other side of the Big Rock. The situation was +unchanged, with the exception of the loss of the _Valetta_. + + + + +VI + +The defects of the position on the Big Rock were vital. There was +neither food nor water. For several nights, accompanied by one of the +Raiatea men, Mauriri swam to the head of the bay for supplies. Then came +the night when lights flared on the water and shots were fired. After +that the water-side of the Big Rock was invested as well. + +“It's a funny situation,” Brown remarked, who was getting all the +adventure he had been led to believe resided in the South Seas. “We've +got hold and can't let go, and Raoul has hold and can't let go. He can't +get away, and we're liable to starve to death holding him.” + +“If the rain came, the rock-basins would fill,” said Mauriri. It was +their first twenty-four hours without water. “Big Brother, to-night you +and I will get water. It is the work of strong men.” + +That night, with cocoanut calabashes, each of quart capacity and tightly +stoppered, he led Grief down to the water from the peninsula side of the +Big Rock. They swam out not more than a hundred feet. Beyond, they could +hear the occasional click of an oar or the knock of a paddle against +a canoe, and sometimes they saw the flare of matches as the men in the +guarding boats lighted cigarettes or pipes. + +“Wait here,” whispered Mauriri, “and hold the calabashes.” + +Turning over, he swam down. Grief, face downward, watched his +phosphorescent track glimmer, and dim, and vanish. A long minute +afterward Mauriri broke surface noiselessly at Grief's side. + +“Here! Drink!” + +The calabash was full, and Grief drank sweet fresh water which had come +up from the depths of the salt. + +“It flows out from the land,” said Mauriri. + +“On the bottom?” + +“No. The bottom is as far below as the mountains are above. Fifty feet +down it flows. Swim down until you feel its coolness.” + +Several times filling and emptying his lungs in diver fashion, Grief +turned over and went down through the water. Salt it was to his lips, +and warm to his flesh; but at last, deep down, it perceptibly chilled +and tasted brackish. Then, suddenly, his body entered the cold, +subterranean stream. He removed the small stopper from the calabash, +and, as the sweet water gurgled into it, he saw the phosphorescent +glimmer of a big fish, like a sea ghost, drift sluggishly by. + +Thereafter, holding the growing weight of the calabashes, he remained on +the surface, while Mauriri took them down, one by one, and filled them. + +“There are sharks,” Grief said, as they swam back to shore. + +“Pooh!” was the answer. “They are fish sharks. We of Fuatino are +brothers to the fish sharks.” + +“But the tiger sharks? I have seen them here.” + +“When they come, Big Brother, we will have no more water to +drink--unless it rains.” + + + + +VII + +A week later Mauriri and a Raiatea man swam back with empty calabashes. +The tiger sharks had arrived in the harbour. The next day they thirsted +on the Big Rock. + +“We must take our chance,” said Grief. “Tonight I shall go after water +with Mautau. Tomorrow night, Brother, you will go with Tehaa.” + +Three quarts only did Grief get, when the tiger sharks appeared and +drove them in. There were six of them on the Rock, and a pint a day, in +the sweltering heat of the mid-tropics, is not sufficient moisture for a +man's body. The next night Mauriri and Tehaa returned with no water. And +the day following Brown learned the full connotation of thirst, when the +lips crack to bleeding, the mouth is coated with granular slime, and the +swollen tongue finds the mouth too small for residence. + +Grief swam out in the darkness with Mautau. Turn by turn, they went down +through the salt, to the cool sweet stream, drinking their fill while +the calabashes were filling. It was Mau-tau's turn to descend with the +last calabash, and Grief, peering down from the surface, saw the glimmer +of sea-ghosts and all the phosphorescent display of the struggle. He +swam back alone, but without relinquishing the precious burden of full +calabashes. + +Of food they had little. Nothing grew on the Rock, and its sides, +covered with shellfish at sea level where the surf thundered in, were +too precipitous for access. Here and there, where crevices permitted, a +few rank shellfish and sea urchins were gleaned. Sometimes frigate birds +and other sea birds were snared. Once, with a piece of frigate bird, +they succeeded in hooking a shark. After that, with jealously guarded +shark-meat for bait, they managed on occasion to catch more sharks. + +But water remained their direst need. Mauriri prayed to the Goat +God for rain. Taute prayed to the Missionary God, and his two fellow +islanders, backsliding, invoked the deities of their old heathen days. +Grief grinned and considered. But Brown, wild-eyed, with protruding +blackened tongue, cursed. Especially he cursed the phonograph that +in the cool twilights ground out gospel hymns from the deck of the +_Rattler_. One hymn in particular, “Beyond the Smiling and the Weeping,” + drove him to madness. It seemed a favourite on board the schooner, for +it was played most of all. Brown, hungry and thirsty, half out of +his head from weakness and suffering, could lie among the rocks with +equanimity and listen to the tinkling of ukuleles and guitars, and +the hulas and himines of the Huahine women. But when the voices of the +Trinity Choir floated over the water he was beside himself. One evening +the cracked tenor took up the song with the machine: + + “Beyond the smiling and the weeping, + I shall be soon. + Beyond the waking and the sleeping, + Beyond the sowing and the reaping, + I shall be soon, + I shall be soon.” + +Then it was that Brown rose up. Again and again, blindly, he emptied his +rifle at the schooner. Laughter floated up from the men and women, and +from the peninsula came a splattering of return bullets; but the cracked +tenor sang on, and Brown continued to fire, until the hymn was played +out. + +It was that night that Grief and Mauriri came back with but one calabash +of water. A patch of skin six inches long was missing from Grief's +shoulder in token of the scrape of the sandpaper hide of a shark whose +dash he had eluded. + + + + + +VIII + +In the early morning of another day, before the sun-blaze had gained its +full strength, came an offer of a parley from Raoul Van Asveld. + +Brown brought the word in from the outpost among the rocks a hundred +yards away. Grief was squatted over a small fire, broiling a strip of +shark-flesh. The last twenty-four hours had been lucky. Seaweed and sea +urchins had been gathered. Tehaa had caught a shark, and Mauriri had +captured a fair-sized octopus at the base of the crevice where the +dynamite was stored. Then, too, in the darkness they had made two +successful swims for water before the tiger sharks had nosed them out. + +“Said he'd like to come in and talk with you,” Brown said. “But I know +what the brute is after. Wants to see how near starved to death we are.” + +“Bring him in,” Grief said. + +“And then we will kill him,” the Goat Man cried joyously. + +Grief shook his head. + +“But he is a killer of men, Big Brother, a beast and a devil,” the Goat +Man protested. + +“He must not be killed, Brother. It is our way not to break our word.” + +“It is a foolish way.” + +“Still it is our way,” Grief answered gravely, turning the strip of +shark-meat over on the coals and noting the hungry sniff and look of +Tehaa. “Don't do that, Tehaa, when the Big Devil comes. Look as if you +and hunger were strangers. Here, cook those sea urchins, you, and you, +Big Brother, cook the squid. We will have the Big Devil to feast with +us. Spare nothing. Cook all.” + +And, still broiling meat, Grief arose as Raoul Van Asveld, followed by a +large Irish terrier, strode into camp. Raoul did not make the mistake of +holding out his hand. + +“Hello!” he said. “I've heard of you.” + +“I wish I'd never heard of you,” Grief answered. + +“Same here,” was the response. “At first, before I knew who it was, +I thought I had to deal with an ordinary trading captain. That's why +you've got me bottled up.” + +“And I am ashamed to say that I underrated you,” Grief smiled. “I took +you for a thieving beachcomber, and not for a really intelligent pirate +and murderer. Hence, the loss of my schooner. Honours are even, I fancy, +on that score.” + +Raoul flushed angrily under his sunburn, but he contained himself. His +eyes roved over the supply of food and the full water-calabashes, though +he concealed the incredulous surprise he felt. His was a tall, slender, +well-knit figure, and Grief, studying him, estimated his character +from his face. The eyes were keen and strong, but a bit too close +together--not pinched, however, but just a trifle near to balance the +broad forehead, the strong chin and jaw, and the cheekbones wide apart. +Strength! His face was filled with it, and yet Grief sensed in it the +intangible something the man lacked. + +“We are both strong men,” Raoul said, with a bow. “We might have been +fighting for empires a hundred years ago.” + +It was Grief's turn to bow. + +“As it is, we are squalidly scrapping over the enforcement of the +colonial laws of those empires whose destinies we might possibly have +determined a hundred years ago.” + +“It all comes to dust,” Raoul remarked sen-tentiously, sitting down. “Go +ahead with your meal. Don't let me interrupt.” + +“Won't you join us?” was Grief's invitation. + +The other looked at him with sharp steadiness, then accepted. + +“I'm sticky with sweat,” he said. “Can I wash?” + +Grief nodded and ordered Mauriri to bring a calabash. Raoul looked into +the Goat Man's eyes, but saw nothing save languid uninterest as the +precious quart of water was wasted on the ground. + +“The dog is thirsty,” Raoul said. + +Grief nodded, and another calabash was presented to the animal. + +Again Raoul searched the eyes of the natives and learned nothing. + +“Sorry we have no coffee,” Grief apologized. “You'll have to drink plain +water. A calabash, Tehaa. Try some of this shark. There is squid to +follow, and sea urchins and a seaweed salad. I'm sorry we haven't any +frigate bird. The boys were lazy yesterday, and did not try to catch +any.” + +With an appetite that would not have stopped at wire nails dipped in +lard, Grief ate perfunctorily, and tossed the scraps to the dog. + +“I'm afraid I haven't got down to the primitive diet yet,” he sighed, +as he sat back. “The tinned goods on the _Rattler_, now I could make a +hearty meal off of them, but this muck----” He took a half-pound strip +of broiled shark and flung it to the dog. “I suppose I'll come to it if +you don't surrender pretty soon.” + +Raoul laughed unpleasantly. + +“I came to offer terms,” he said pointedly. + +Grief shook his head. + +“There aren't any terms. I've got you where the hair is short, and I'm +not going to let go.” + +“You think you can hold me in this hole!” Raoul cried. + +“You'll never leave it alive, except in double irons.” Grief surveyed +his guest with an air of consideration. “I've handled your kind before. +We've pretty well cleaned it out of the South Seas. But you are a--how +shall I say?--a sort of an anachronism. You're a throwback, and we've +got to get rid of you. Personally, I would advise you to go back to the +schooner and blow your brains out. It is the only way to escape what +you've got coming to you.” + +The parley, so far as Raoul was concerned, proved fruitless, and he went +back into his own lines convinced that the men on the Big Rock could +hold out for years, though he would have been swiftly unconvinced could +he have observed Tehaa and the Raiateans, the moment his back was +turned and he was out of sight, crawling over the rocks and sucking and +crunching the scraps his dog had left uneaten. + + + + +IX + +“We hunger now, Brother,” Grief said, “but it is better than to hunger +for many days to come. The Big Devil, after feasting and drinking good +water with us in plenty, will not stay long in Fuatino. Even to-morrow +may he try to leave. To-night you and I sleep over the top of the Rock, +and Tehaa, who shoots well, will sleep with us if he can dare the Rock.” + +Tehaa, alone among the Raiateans, was cragsman enough to venture the +perilous way, and dawn found him in a rock-barricaded nook, a hundred +yards to the right of Grief and Mauriri. + +The first warning was the firing of rifles from the peninsula, where +Brown and his two Raiateans signalled the retreat and followed the +besiegers through the jungle to the beach. From the eyrie on the face +of the rock Grief could see nothing for another hour, when the _Rattler_ +appeared, making for the passage. As before, the captive Fuatino men +towed in the whaleboat. Mauriri, under direction of Grief, called down +instructions to them as they passed slowly beneath. By Grief's side +lay several bundles of dynamite sticks, well-lashed together and with +extremely short fuses. + +The deck of the _Rattler_ was populous. For'ard, rifle in hand, among +the Raiatean sailors, stood a desperado whom Mauriri announced was +Raoul's brother. Aft, by the helmsman, stood another. Attached to him, +tied waist to waist, with slack, was Mataara, the old Queen. On the +other side of the helmsman, his arm in a sling, was Captain Glass. +Amidships, as before, was Raoul, and with him, lashed waist to waist, +was Naumoo. + +“Good morning, Mister David Grief,” Raoul called up. + +“And yet I warned you that only in double irons would you leave the +island,” Grief murmured down with a sad inflection. + +“You can't kill all your people I have on board,” was the answer. + +The schooner, moving slowly, jerk by jerk, as the men pulled in the +whaleboat, was almost directly beneath. The rowers, without ceasing, +slacked on their oars, and were immediately threatened with the rifle of +the man who stood for'ard. + +“Throw, Big Brother!” Naumoo called up in the Fuatino tongue. “I am +filled with sorrow and am willed to die. His knife is ready with which +to cut the rope, but I shall hold him tight. Be not afraid, Big Brother. +Throw, and throw straight, and good-bye.” + +Grief hesitated, then lowered the fire-stick which he had been blowing +bright. + +“Throw!” the Goat Man urged. + +Still Grief hesitated. + +“If they get to sea, Big Brother, Naumoo dies just the same. And there +are all the others. What is her life against the many?” + +“If you drop any dynamite, or fire a single shot, we'll kill all on +board,” Raoul cried up to them. “I've got you, David Grief. You can't +kill these people, and I can. Shut up, you!” + +This last was addressed to Naumoo, who was calling up in her native +tongue and whom Raoul seized by the neck with one hand to choke +to silence. In turn, she locked both arms about him and looked up +beseechingly to Grief. + +“Throw it, Mr. Grief, and be damned to them,” Captain Glass rumbled +in his deep voice. “They're bloody murderers, and the cabin's full of +them.” + +The desperado who was fastened to the old Queen swung half about to +menace Captain Glass with his rifle, when Tehaa, from his position +farther along the Rock, pulled trigger on him. The rifle dropped from +the man's hand, and on his face was an expression of intense surprise as +his legs crumpled under him and he sank down on deck, dragging the Queen +with him. + +“Port! Hard a port!” Grief cried. + +Captain Glass and the Kanaka whirled the wheel over, and the bow of the +_Rattler_ headed in for the Rock. Amidships Raoul still struggled with +Naumoo. His brother ran from for'ard to his aid, being missed by the +fusillade of quick shots from Tehaa and the Goat Man. As Raoul's brother +placed the muzzle of his rifle to Naumoo's side Grief touched the +fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of the fuse. Even as with +both hands he tossed the big bundle of dynamite, the rifle went off, +and Naumoo's fall to the deck was simultaneous with the fall of the +dynamite. This time the fuse was short enough. The explosion occurred +at the instant the deck was reached, and that portion of the _Rattler_, +along with Raoul, his brother, and Naumoo, forever disappeared. + +The schooner's side was shattered, and she began immediately to settle. +For'ard, every Raiatean sailor dived overboard. Captain Glass met the +first man springing up the com-panionway from the cabin, with a kick +full in the face, but was overborne and trampled on by the rush. +Following the desperadoes came the Huahine women, and as they went +overboard, the _Rattler_ sank on an even keel close to the base of the +Rock. Her cross-trees still stuck out when she reached bottom. + +Looking down, Grief could see all that occurred beneath the surface. He +saw Mataara, a fathom deep, unfasten herself from the dead pirate and +swim upward. As her head emerged she saw Captain Glass, who could not +swim, sinking several yards away. The Queen, old woman that she was, +but an islander, turned over, swam down to him, and held him up as she +struck out for the unsubmerged cross-trees. + +Five heads, blond and brown, were mingled with the dark heads of +Polynesia that dotted the surface. Grief, rifle in hand, watched for a +chance to shoot. The Goat Man, after a minute, was successful, and they +saw the body of one man sink sluggishly. But to the Raiatean sailors, +big and brawny, half fish, was the vengeance given. Swimming swiftly, +they singled out the blond heads and the brown. Those from above watched +the four surviving desperadoes, clutched and locked, dragged far down +beneath and drowned like curs. + +In ten minutes everything was over. The Huahine women, laughing and +giggling, were holding on to the sides of the whaleboat which had done +the towing. The Raiatean sailors, waiting for orders, were about the +cross-tree to which Captain Glass and Mataara clung. + +“The poor old _Rattler_,” Captain Glass lamented. + +“Nothing of the sort,” Grief answered. “In a week we'll have her raised, +new timbers amidships, and we'll be on our way.” And to the Queen, “How +is it with you, Sister?” + +“Naumoo is gone, and Motauri, Brother, but Fuatino is ours again. The +day is young. Word shall be sent to all my people in the high places +with the goats. And to-night, once again, and as never before, we shall +feast and rejoice in the Big House.” + +“She's been needing new timbers abaft the beam there for years,” quoth +Captain Glass. “But the chronometers will be out of commission for the +rest of the cruise.” + + + + +Chapter Four--THE JOKERS OF NEW GIBBON + + + + +I + +“I'm almost afraid to take you in to New Gibbon,” David Grief said. “It +wasn't until you and the British gave me a free hand and let the place +alone that any results were accomplished.” + +Wallenstein, the German Resident Commissioner from Bougainville, poured +himself a long Scotch and soda and smiled. + +“We take off our hats to you, Mr. Grief,” he said in perfectly good +English. “What you have done on the devil island is a miracle. And we +shall continue not to interfere. It _is_ a devil island, and old Koho is +the big chief devil of them all. We never could bring him to terms. He +is a liar, and he is no fool. He is a black Napoleon, a head-hunting, +man-eating Talleyrand. I remember six years ago, when I landed there in +the British cruiser. The niggers cleared out for the bush, of course, +but we found several who couldn't get away. One was his latest wife. She +had been hung up by one arm in the sun for two days and nights. We +cut her down, but she died just the same. And staked out in the fresh +running water, up to their necks, were three more women. All their bones +were broken and their joints crushed. The process is supposed to make +them tender for the eating. They were still alive. Their vitality was +remarkable. One woman, the oldest, lingered nearly ten days. Well, that +was a sample of Koho's diet. No wonder he's a wild beast. How you ever +pacified him is our everlasting puzzlement.” + +“I wouldn't call him exactly pacified,” Grief answered. “Though he comes +in once in a while and eats out of the hand.” + +“That's more than we accomplished with our cruisers. Neither the German +nor the English ever laid eyes on him. You were the first.” + +“No; McTavish was the first,” Grief disclaimed. + +“Ah, yes, I remember him--the little, dried-up Scotchman.” Wallenstein +sipped his whiskey. “He's called the Trouble-mender, isn't he?” + +Grief nodded. + +“And they say the screw you pay him is bigger than mine or the British +Resident's?” + +“I'm afraid it is,” Grief admitted. “You see, and no offence, he's +really worth it. He spends his time wherever the trouble is. He is a +wizard. He's the one who got me my lodgment on New Gibbon. He's down on +Malaita now, starting a plantation for me.” + +“The first?” + +“There's not even a trading station on all Malaita. The recruiters still +use covering boats and carry the old barbed wire above their rails. +There's the plantation now. We'll be in in half an hour.” He handed the +binoculars to his guest. “Those are the boat-sheds to the left of the +bungalow. Beyond are the barracks. And to the right are the copra-sheds. +We dry quite a bit already. Old Koho's getting civilized enough to make +his people bring in the nuts. There's the mouth of the stream where you +found the three women softening.” + +The _Wonder_, wing-and-wing, was headed directly in for the anchorage. +She rose and fell lazily over a glassy swell flawed here and there by +catspaws from astern. It was the tail-end of the monsoon season, and the +air was heavy and sticky with tropic moisture, the sky a florid, leaden +muss of formless clouds. The rugged land was swathed with cloud-banks +and squall wreaths, through which headlands and interior peaks thrust +darkly. On one promontory a slant of sunshine blazed torridly, on +another, scarcely a mile away, a squall was bursting in furious downpour +of driving rain. + +This was the dank, fat, savage island of New Gibbon, lying fifty miles +to leeward of Choiseul. Geographically, it belonged to the Solomon +Group. Politically, the dividing line of German and British +influence cut it in half, hence the joint control by the two Resident +Commissioners. In the case of New Gibbon, this control existed only on +paper in the colonial offices of the two countries. There was no real +control at all, and never had been. The bêche de mer fishermen of +the old days had passed it by. The sandalwood traders, after stern +experiences, had given it up. The blackbirders had never succeeded in +recruiting one labourer on the island, and, after the schooner _Dorset_ +had been cut off with all hands, they left the place severely alone. +Later, a German company had attempted a cocoanut plantation, which was +abandoned after several managers and a number of contract labourers had +lost their heads. German cruisers and British cruisers had failed to +get the savage blacks to listen to reason. Four times the missionary +societies had essayed the peaceful conquest of the island, and four +times, between sickness and massacre, they had been driven away, More +cruisers, more pacifications, had followed, and followed fruitlessly. +The cannibals had always retreated into the bush and laughed at the +screaming shells. When the warships left it was an easy matter +to rebuild the burned grass houses and set up the ovens in the +old-fashioned way. + +New Gibbon was a large island, fully one hundred and fifty miles long +and half as broad. + +Its windward coast was iron-bound, without anchorages or inlets, and it +was inhabited by scores of warring tribes--at least it had been, +until Koho had arisen, like a Kamehameha, and, by force of arms and +considerable statecraft, firmly welded the greater portion of the tribes +into a confederation. His policy of permitting no intercourse with white +men had been eminently right, so far as survival of his own people was +concerned; and after the visit of the last cruiser he had had his own +way until David Grief and McTavish the Trouble-mender landed on the +deserted beach where once had stood the German bungalow and barracks and +the various English mission-houses. + +Followed wars, false peaces, and more wars. The weazened little +Scotchman could make trouble as well as mend it, and, not content with +holding the beach, he imported bushmen from Malaita and invaded the +wild-pig runs of the interior jungle. He burned villages until Koho +wearied of rebuilding them, and when he captured Koho's eldest son he +compelled a conference with the old chief. It was then that McTavish +laid down the rate of head-exchange. For each head of his own people +he promised to take ten of Koho's. After Koho had learned that the +Scotchman was a man of his word, the first true peace was made. In +the meantime McTavish had built the bungalow and barracks, cleared the +jungle-land along the beach, and laid out the plantation. After that +he had gone on his way to mend trouble on the atoll of Tasman, where +a plague of black measles had broken out and been ascribed to Grief's +plantation by the devil-devil doctors. Once, a year later, he had been +called back again to straighten up New Gibbon; and Koho, after paying a +forced fine of two hundred thousand cocoanuts, decided it was cheaper +to keep the peace and sell the nuts. Also, the fires of his youth +had burned down. He was getting old and limped of one leg where a +Lee-Enfield bullet had perforated the calf. + + + + +II + +“I knew a chap in Hawaii,” Grief said, “superintendent of a sugar +plantation, who used a hammer and a ten-penny nail.” + +They were sitting on the broad bungalow veranda, and watching Worth, the +manager of New Gibbon, doctoring the sick squad. They were New Georgia +boys, a dozen of them, and the one with the aching tooth had been put +back to the last. Worth had just failed in his first attempt. He wiped +the sweat from his forehead with one hand and waved the forceps with the +other. + +“And broke more than one jaw,” he asserted grimly. + +Grief shook his head. Wallenstein smiled and elevated his brows. + +“He said not, at any rate,” Grief qualified. “He assured me, +furthermore, that he always succeeded on the first trial.” + +“I saw it done when I was second mate on a lime-juicer,” Captain Ward +spoke up. “The old man used a caulking mallet and a steel marlin-spike. +He took the tooth out with the first stroke, too, clean as a whistle.” + +“Me for the forceps,” Worth muttered grimly, inserting his own pair in +the mouth of the black. As he pulled, the man groaned and rose in the +air. “Lend a hand, somebody, and hold him down,” the manager appealed. + +Grief and Wallenstein, on either side, gripped the black and held him. +And he, in turn, struggled against them and clenched his teeth on the +forceps. The group swayed back and forth. Such exertion, in the stagnant +heat, brought the sweat out on all of them. The black sweated, too, but +his was the sweat of excruciating pain. The chair on which he sat was +overturned. Captain Ward paused in the act of pouring himself a drink, +and called encouragement. Worth pleaded with his assistants to hang +on, and hung on himself, twisting the tooth till it crackled and then +attempting a straightaway pull. + +Nor did any of them notice the little black man who limped up the steps +and stood looking on. Koho was a conservative. His fathers before him +had worn no clothes, and neither did he, not even a gee-string. The many +empty perforations in nose and lips and ears told of decorative passions +long since dead. The holes on both ear-lobes had been torn out, but +their size was attested by the strips of withered flesh that hung down +and swept his shoulders. He cared now only for utility, and in one of +the half dozen minor holes in his right ear he carried a short clay +pipe. Around his waist was buckled a cheap trade-belt, and between the +imitation leather and the naked skin was thrust the naked blade of a +long knife. Suspended from the belt was his bamboo betel-nut and lime +box. In his hand was a short-barrelled, large-bore Snider rifle. He +was indescribably filthy, and here and there marred by scars, the worst +being the one left by the Lee-Enfield bullet, which had withered the +calf to half the size of its mate. His shrunken mouth showed that few +teeth were left to serve him. Face and body were shrunken and withered, +but his black, bead-like eyes, small and close together, were very +bright, withal they were restless and querulous, and more like a +monkey's than a man's. + +He looked on, grinning like a shrewd little ape. His joy in the torment +of the patient was natural, for the world he lived in was a world of +pain. He had endured his share of it, and inflicted far more than his +share on others. When the tooth parted from its locked hold in the jaw +and the forceps raked across the other teeth and out of the mouth with a +nerve-rasping sound, old Koho's eyes fairly sparkled, and he looked +with glee at the poor black, collapsed on the veranda floor and groaning +terribly as he held his head in both his hands. + +“I think he's going to faint,” Grief said, bending over the victim. +“Captain Ward, give him a drink, please. You'd better take one yourself, +Worth; you're shaking like a leaf.” + +“And I think I'll take one,” said Wallenstein, wiping the sweat from his +face. His eye caught the shadow of Koho on the floor and followed it up +to the old chief himself. “Hello! who's this?” + +“Hello, Koho!” Grief said genially, though he knew better than to offer +to shake hands. + +It was one of Koho's _tambos_, given him by the devil-devil doctors when +he was born, that never was his flesh to come in contact with the flesh +of a white man. Worth and Captain Ward, of the _Wonder_, greeted Koho, +but Worth frowned at sight of the Snider, for it was one of his _tambos_ +that no visiting bushman should carry a weapon on the plantation. Rifles +had a nasty way of going off at the hip under such circumstances. The +manager clapped his hands, and a black house-boy, recruited from San +Cristobal, came running. At a sign from Worth, he took the rifle from +the visitor's hand and carried it inside the bungalow. + +“Koho,” Grief said, introducing the German Resident, “this big fella +marster belong Bougainville--my word, big fella marster too much.” + +Koho, remembering the visits of the various German cruisers, smiled with +a light of unpleasant reminiscence in his eyes. + +“Don't shake hands with him, Wallenstein,” Grief warned. “_Tambo_, you +know.” Then to Koho, “My word, you get 'm too much fat stop along you. +Bime by you marry along new fella Mary, eh?” + +“Too old fella me,” Koho answered, with a weary shake of the head. “Me +no like 'm Mary. Me no like 'm _kai-kai_ (food). Close up me die along +altogether.” He stole a significant glance at Worth, whose head was +tilted back to a long glass. “Me like 'm rum.” + +Grief shook his head. + +“_Tambo_ along black fella.” + +“He black fella no tambo,” Koho retorted, nodding toward the groaning +labourer. + +“He fella sick,” Grief explained. + +“Me fella sick.” + +“You fella big liar,” Grief laughed. “Rum tambo, all the time tambo. +Now, Koho, we have big fella talk along this big fella mar-ster.” + +And he and Wallenstein and the old chief sat down on the veranda to +confer about affairs of state. Koho was complimented on the peace he +had kept, and he, with many protestations of his aged decrepitude, swore +peace again and everlasting. Then was discussed the matter of starting a +German plantation twenty miles down the coast. The land, of course, was +to be bought from Koho, and the price was arranged in terms of tobacco, +knives, beads, pipes, hatchets, porpoise teeth and shell-money--in terms +of everything except rum. While the talk went on, Koho, glancing through +the window, could see Worth mixing medicines and placing bottles back in +the medicine cupboard. Also, he saw the manager complete his labours by +taking a drink of Scotch. Koho noted the bottle carefully. And, though +he hung about for an hour after the conference was over, there was never +a moment when some one or another was not in the room. When Grief and +Worth sat down to a business talk, Koho gave it up. + +“Me go along schooner,” he announced, then turned and limped out. + +“How are the mighty fallen,” Grief laughed. “To think that used to be +Koho, the fiercest red-handed murderer in the Solomons, who defied all +his life two of the greatest world powers. And now he's going aboard to +try and cadge Denby for a drink.” + + + + +III + +For the last time in his life the supercargo of the _Wonder_ perpetrated +a practical joke on a native. He was in the main cabin, checking off the +list of goods being landed in the whaleboats, when Koho limped down the +com-panionway and took a seat opposite him at the table. + +“Close up me die along altogether,” was the burden of the old chief's +plaint. All the delights of the flesh had forsaken him. “Me no like +'m Mary. Me no like 'm _kai-kai_. Me too much sick fella. Me close up +finish.” A long, sad pause, in which his face expressed unutterable +concern for his stomach, which he patted gingerly and with an assumption +of pain. “Belly belong me too much sick.” Another pause, which was an +invitation to Denby to make suggestions. Then followed a long, weary, +final sigh, and a “Me like 'm rum.” + +Denby laughed heartlessly. He had been cadged for drinks before by the +old cannibal, and the sternest _tambo_ Grief and McTavish had laid down +was the one forbidding alcohol to the natives of New Gibbon. + +The trouble was that Koho had acquired the taste. In his younger days +he had learned the delights of drunkenness when he cut off the schooner +_Dorset_, but unfortunately he had learned it along with all his +tribesmen, and the supply had not held out long. Later, when he led his +naked warriors down to the destruction of the German plantation, he was +wiser, and he appropriated all the liquors for his sole use. The result +had been a gorgeous mixed drunk, on a dozen different sorts of drink, +ranging from beer doctored with quinine to absinthe and apricot brandy. +The drunk had lasted for months, and it had left him with a thirst that +would remain with him until he died. Predisposed toward alcohol, after +the way of savages, all the chemistry of his flesh clamoured for it. +This craving was to him expressed in terms of tingling and sensation, of +maggots crawling warmly and deliciously in his brain, of good feeling, +and well being, and high exultation. And in his barren old age, when +women and feasting were a weariness, and when old hates had smouldered +down, he desired more and more the revivifying fire that came liquid out +of bottles--out of all sorts of bottles--for he remembered them well. +He would sit in the sun for hours, occasionally drooling, in mournful +contemplation of the great orgy which had been his when the German +plantation was cleaned out. + +Denby was sympathetic. He sought out the old chief's symptoms and +offered him dyspeptic tablets from the medicine chest, pills, and +a varied assortment of harmless tabloids and capsules. But Koho +steadfastly declined. Once, when he cut the _Dorset_ off, he had bitten +through a capsule of quinine; in addition, two of his warriors had +partaken of a white powder and laid down and died very violently in a +very short time. No; he did not believe in drugs. But the liquids from +bottles, the cool-flaming youth-givers and warm-glowing dream-makers. No +wonder the white men valued them so highly and refused to dispense them. + +“Rum he good fella,” he repeated over and over, plaintively and with the +weary patience of age. + +And then Denby made his mistake and played his joke. Stepping around +behind Koho, he unlocked the medicine closet and took out a four-ounce +bottle labelled _essence of mustard_. As he made believe to draw the +cork and drink of the contents, in the mirror on the for'ard bulkhead he +glimpsed Koho, twisted half around, intently watching him. Denby smacked +his lips and cleared his throat appreciatively as he replaced the +bottle. Neglecting to relock the medicine closet, he returned to his +chair, and, after a decent interval, went on deck. He stood beside the +companionway and listened. After several moments the silence below was +broken by a fearful, wheezing, propulsive, strangling cough. He smiled +to himself and returned leisurely down the companionway. The bottle was +back on the shelf where it belonged, and the old man sat in the same +position. Denby marvelled at his iron control. Mouth and lips and +tongue, and all sensitive membranes, were a blaze of fire. He gasped +and nearly coughed several times, while involuntary tears brimmed in +his eyes and ran down his cheeks. An ordinary man would have coughed and +strangled for half an hour. But old Koho's face was grimly composed. It +dawned on him that a trick had been played, and into his eyes came an +expression of hatred and malignancy so primitive, so abysmal, that it +sent the chills up and down Denby's spine. Koho arose proudly. + +“Me go along,” he said. “You sing out one fella boat stop along me.” + + + + +IV + +Having seen Grief and Worth start for a ride over the plantation, +Wallenstein sat down in the big living-room and with gun-oil and old +rags proceeded to take apart and clean his automatic pistol. On the +table beside him stood the inevitable bottle of Scotch and numerous soda +bottles. Another bottle, part full, chanced to stand there. It was also +labelled Scotch, but its content was liniment which Worth had mixed for +the horses and neglected to put away. + +As Wallenstein worked, he glanced through the window and saw Koho coming +up the compound path. He was limping very rapidly, but when he came +along the veranda and entered the room his gait was slow and dignified. +He sat down and watched the gun-cleaning, Though mouth and lips and +tongue were afire, he gave no sign. At the end of five minutes he spoke. + +“Rum he good fella. Me like 'm rum.” Wallenstein smiled and shook his +head, and then it was that his perverse imp suggested what was to be his +last joke on a native. The similarity of the two bottles was the real +suggestion. He laid his pistol parts on the table and mixed himself +a long drink. Standing as he did between Koho and the table, he +interchanged the two bottles, drained his glass, made as if to search +for something, and left the room. From outside he heard the surprised +splutter and cough; but when he returned the old chief sat as before. +The liniment in the bottle, however, was lower, and it still oscillated. + +Koho stood up, clapped his hands, and, when the house-boy answered, +signed that he desired his rifle. The boy fetched the weapon, and +according to custom preceded the visitor down the pathway. Not +until outside the gate did the boy turn the rifle over to its owner. +Wallenstein, chuckling to himself, watched the old chief limp along the +beach in the direction of the river. + +A few minutes later, as he put his pistol together, Wallenstein heard +the distant report of a gun. For the instant he thought of Koho, then +dismissed the conjecture from his mind. Worth and Grief had taken +shotguns with them, and it was probably one of their shots at a pigeon. +Wallenstein lounged back in his chair, chuckled, twisted his yellow +mustache, and dozed. He was aroused by the excited voice of Worth, +crying out: + +“Ring the big fella bell! Ring plenty too much! Ring like hell!” + +Wallenstein gained the veranda in time to see the manager jump his horse +over the low fence of the compound and dash down the beach after Grief, +who was riding madly ahead. A loud crackling and smoke rising through +the cocoanut trees told the story. The boat-houses and the barracks +were on fire. The big plantation bell was ringing wildly as the German +Resident ran down the beach, and he could see whaleboats hastily putting +off from the schooner. + +Barracks and boat-houses, grass-thatched and like tinder, were wrapped +in flames. Grief emerged from the kitchen, carrying a naked black child +by the leg. Its head was missing. + +“The cook's in there,” he told Worth. “Her head's gone, too. She was too +heavy, and I had to clear out.” + +“It was my fault,” Wallenstein said. “Old Koho did it. But I let him +take a drink of Worth's horse liniment.” + +“I guess he's headed for the bush,” Worth said, springing astride his +horse and starting. “Oliver is down there by the river. Hope he didn't +get _him_.” + +The manager galloped away through the trees. A few minutes later, as +the charred wreck of the barracks crashed in, they heard him calling and +followed. On the edge of the river bank they came upon him. He still sat +on his horse, very white-faced, and gazed at something on the ground. It +was the body of Oliver, the young assistant manager, though it was hard +to realize it, for the head was gone. The black labourers, breathless +from their run in from the fields, were now crowding around, and under +conches to-night, and the war-drums, “all merry hell will break loose. +They won't rush us, but keep all the boys close up to the house, Mr. +Worth. Come on!” + +As they returned along the path they came upon a black who whimpered and +cried vociferously. + +“Shut up mouth belong you!” Worth shouted. “What name you make 'm +noise?” + +“Him fella Koho finish along two fella bulla-macow,” the black answered, +drawing a forefinger significantly across his throat. + +“He's knifed the cows,” Grief said. “That means no more milk for some +time for you, Worth. I'll see about sending a couple up from Ugi.” + +Wallenstein proved inconsolable, until Denby, coming ashore, confessed +to the dose of essence of mustard. Thereat the German Resident became +even cheerful, though he twisted his yellow mustache up more fiercely +and continued to curse the Solomons with oaths culled from four +languages. + +Next morning, visible from the masthead of the _Wonder_, the bush +was alive with signal-smokes. From promontory to promontory, and back +through the solid jungle, the smoke-pillars curled and puffed and +talked. Remote villages on the higher peaks, beyond the farthest raids +McTavish had ever driven, joined in the troubled conversation. From +across the river persisted a bedlam of conches; while from everywhere, +drifting for miles along the quiet air, came the deep, booming +reverberations of the great war-drums--huge tree trunks, hollowed by +fire and carved with tools of stone and shell. “You're all right as long +as you stay close,” Grief told his manager. “I've got to get along +to Guvutu. They won't come out in the open and attack you. Keep the +work-gangs close. Stop the clearing till this blows over. They'll get +any detached gangs you send out. And, whatever you do, don't be fooled +into going into the bush after Koho. If you do, he'll get you. All +you've got to do is wait for McTavish. I'll send him up with a bunch of +his Malaita bush-men. He's the only man who can go inside. Also, until +he comes, I'll leave Denby with you. You don't mind, do you, Mr. Denby? +I'll send McTavish up with the _Wanda_, and you can go back on her and +rejoin the _Wonder_. Captain Ward can manage without you for a trip.” + +“It was just what I was going to volunteer,” Denby answered. “I never +dreamed all this muss would be kicked up over a joke. You see, in a way +I consider myself responsible for it.” + +“So am I responsible,” Wallenstein broke in. + +“But I started it,” the supercargo urged. + +“Maybe you did, but I carried it along.” + +“And Koho finished it,” Grief said. + +“At any rate, I, too, shall remain,” said the German. + +“I thought you were coming to Guvutu with me,” Grief protested. + +“I was. But this is my jurisdiction, partly, and I have made a fool of +myself in it completely. I shall remain and help get things straight +again.” + +At Guvutu, Grief sent full instructions to McTavish by a recruiting +ketch which was just starting for Malaita. Captain Ward sailed in the +_Wonder_ for the Santa Cruz Islands; and Grief, borrowing a whaleboat +and a crew of black prisoners from the British Resident, crossed the +channel to Guadalcanar, to examine the grass lands back of Penduffryn. + +Three weeks later, with a free sheet and a lusty breeze, he threaded the +coral patches and surged up the smooth water to Guvutu anchorage. The +harbour was deserted, save for a small ketch which lay close in to the +shore reef. Grief recognized it as the _Wanda_. She had evidently just +got in by the Tulagi Passage, for her black crew was still at work +furling the sails. As he rounded alongside, McTavish himself extended a +hand to help him over the rail. + +“What's the matter?” Grief asked. “Haven't you started yet?” + +McTavish nodded. “And got back. Everything's all right on board.” + +“How's New Gibbon?” + +“All there, the last I saw of it, barrin' a few inconsequential frills +that a good eye could make out lacking from the landscape.” + +He was a cold flame of a man, small as Koho, and as dried up, with a +mahogany complexion and small, expressionless blue eyes that were more +like gimlet-points than the eyes of a Scotchman. Without fear, without +enthusiasm, impervious to disease and climate and sentiment, he was lean +and bitter and deadly as a snake. That his present sour look boded ill +news, Grief was well aware. + +“Spit it out!” he said. “What's happened?” + +“'Tis a thing severely to be condemned, a damned shame, this joking with +heathen niggers,” was the reply. “Also, 'tis very expensive. Come below, +Mr. Grief. You'll be better for the information with a long glass in +your hand. After you.” + +“How did you settle things?” his employer demanded as soon as they were +seated in the cabin. + +The little Scotchman shook his head. “There was nothing to settle. It +all depends how you look at it. The other way would be to say it was +settled, entirely settled, mind you, before I got there.” + +“But the plantation, man? The plantation?” + +“No plantation. All the years of our work have gone for naught. 'Tis +back where we started, where the missionaries started, where the Germans +started--and where they finished. Not a stone stands on another at the +landing pier. The houses are black ashes. Every tree is hacked down, and +the wild pigs are rooting out the yams and sweet potatoes. Those boys +from New Georgia, a fine bunch they were, five score of them, and they +cost you a pretty penny. Not one is left to tell the tale.” + +He paused and began fumbling in a large locker under the +companion-steps. + +“But Worth? And Denby? And Wallenstein?” + +“That's what I'm telling you. Take a look.” + +McTavish dragged out a sack made of rice matting and emptied its +contents on the floor. David Grief pulled himself together with a jerk, +for he found himself gazing fascinated at the heads of the three men he +had left at New Gibbon. The yellow mustache of Wallenstein had lost its +fierce curl and drooped and wilted on the upper lip. + +“I don't know how it happened,” the Scotchman's voice went on drearily. +“But I surmise they went into the bush after the old devil.” + +“And where is Koho?” Grief asked. + +“Back in the bush and drunk as a lord. That's how I was able to recover +the heads. He was too drunk to stand. They lugged him on their backs out +of the village when I rushed it. And if you'll relieve me of the heads, +I'll be well obliged.” He paused and sighed. “I suppose they'll have +regular funerals over them and put them in the ground. But in my way of +thinking they'd make excellent curios. Any respectable museum would pay +a hundred quid apiece. Better have another drink. You're looking a bit +pale---- There, put that down you, and if you'll take my advice, Mr. +Grief, I would say, set your face sternly against any joking with +the niggers. It always makes trouble, and it is a very expensive +divertisement.” + + + + + +Chapter Five--A LITTLE ACCOUNT WITH SWITHIN HALL + + + + +I + +With a last long scrutiny at the unbroken circle of the sea, David Grief +swung out of the cross-trees and slowly and dejectedly descended the +ratlines to the deck. + +“Leu-Leu Atoll is sunk, Mr. Snow,” he said to the anxious-faced young +mate. “If there is anything in navigation, the atoll is surely under the +sea, for we've sailed clear over it twice--or the spot where it ought to +be. It's either that or the chronometer's gone wrong, or I've forgotten +my navigation.” + +“It must be the chronometer, sir,” the mate reassured his owner. “You +know I made separate sights and worked them up, and that they agreed +with yours.” + +“Yes,” Grief muttered, nodding glumly, “and where your Summer lines +crossed, and mine, too, was the dead centre of Leu-Leu Atoll. It must be +the chronometer--slipped a cog or something.” + +He made a short pace to the rail and back, and cast a troubled eye at +the _Uncle Toby's_ wake. The schooner, with a fairly strong breeze on +her quarter, was logging nine or ten knots. + +“Better bring her up on the wind, Mr. Snow. Put her under easy sail and +let her work to windward on two-hour legs. It's thickening up, and I +don't imagine we can get a star observation to-night; so we'll just hold +our weather position, get a latitude sight to-morrow, and run Leu-Leu +down on her own latitude. That's the way all the old navigators did.” + +Broad of beam, heavily sparred, with high freeboard and bluff, Dutchy +bow, the _Uncle Toby_ was the slowest, tubbiest, safest, and most +fool-proof schooner David Grief possessed. Her run was in the Banks and +Santa Cruz groups and to the northwest among the several isolated atolls +where his native traders collected copra, hawksbill turtle, and +an occasional ton of pearl shell. Finding the skipper down with a +particularly bad stroke of fever, Grief had relieved him and taken the +_Uncle Toby_ on her semiannual run to the atolls. He had elected to make +his first call at Leu-Leu, which lay farthest, and now found himself +lost at sea with a chronometer that played tricks. + + + + +II + +No stars showed that night, nor was the sun visible next day. A stuffy, +sticky calm obtained, broken by big wind-squalls and heavy downpours. +From fear of working too far to windward, the Uncle Toby was hove to, +and four days and nights of cloud-hidden sky followed. Never did the sun +appear, and on the several occasions that stars broke through they were +too dim and fleeting for identification. By this time it was patent to +the veriest tyro that the elements were preparing to break loose. Grief, +coming on deck from consulting the barometer, which steadfastly remained +at 29.90, encountered Jackie-Jackie, whose face was as brooding +and troublous as the sky and air. Jackie-Jackie, a Tongan sailor of +experience, served as a sort of bosun and semi-second mate over the +mixed Kanaka crew. + +“Big weather he come, I think,” he said. “I see him just the same before +maybe five, six times.” + +Grief nodded. “Hurricane weather, all right, Jackie-Jackie. Pretty soon +barometer go down--bottom fall out.” + +“Sure,” the Tongan concurred. “He goin' to blow like hell.” + +Ten minutes later Snow came on deck. + +“She's started,” he said; “29.85, going down and pumping at the same +time. It's stinking hot--don't you notice it?” He brushed his forehead +with his hands. “It's sickening. I could lose my breakfast without +trying.” + +Jackie-Jackie grinned. “Just the same me. Everything inside walk about. +Always this way before big blow. But _Uncle Toby_ all right. He go +through anything.” + +“Better rig that storm-trysail on the main, and a storm-jib,” Grief said +to the mate. “And put all the reefs into the working canvas before you +furl down. No telling what we may need. Put on double gaskets while +you're about it.” + +In another hour, the sultry oppressiveness steadily increasing and the +stark calm still continuing, the barometer had fallen to 29.70. The +mate, being young, lacked the patience of waiting for the portentous. He +ceased his restless pacing, and waved his arms. + +“If she's going to come let her come!” he cried. “There's no use +shilly-shallying this way! Whatever the worst is, let us know it and +have it! A pretty pickle--lost with a crazy chronometer and a hurricane +that won't blow!” + +The cloud-mussed sky turned to a vague copper colour, and seemed to +glow as the inside of a huge heated caldron. Nobody remained below. The +native sailors formed in anxious groups amidships and for'ard, where +they talked in low voices and gazed apprehensively at the ominous +sky and the equally ominous sea that breathed in long, low, oily +undulations. + +“Looks like petroleum mixed with castor oil,” the mate grumbled, as he +spat his disgust overside. “My mother used to dose me with messes like +that when I was a kid. Lord, she's getting black!” + +The lurid coppery glow had vanished, and the sky thickened and lowered +until the darkness was as that of a late twilight. David Grief, who +well knew the hurricane rules, nevertheless reread the “Laws of Storms,” + screwing his eyes in the faint light in order to see the print. There +was nothing to be done save wait for the wind, so that he might know +how he lay in relation to the fast-flying and deadly centre that from +somewhere was approaching out of the gloom. + +It was three in the afternoon, and the glass had sunk to 29:45, when +the wind came. They could see it on the water, darkening the face of the +sea, crisping tiny whitecaps as it rushed along. It was merely a stiff +breeze, and the _Uncle Toby_, filling away under her storm canvas till +the wind was abeam, sloshed along at a four-knot gait. + +“No weight to that,” Snow sneered. “And after such grand preparation!” + +“Pickaninny wind,” Jackie-Jackie agreed. “He grow big man pretty quick, +you see.” + +Grief ordered the foresail put on, retaining the reefs, and the _Uncle +Toby_ mended her pace in the rising breeze. The wind quickly grew to +man's size, but did not stop there. It merely blew hard, and harder, and +kept on blowing harder, advertising each increase by lulls followed by +fierce, freshening gusts. Ever it grew, until the _Uncle Toby's_ rail +was more often pressed under than not, while her waist boiled with +foaming water which the scuppers could not carry off. Grief studied the +barometer, still steadily falling. + +“The centre is to the southward,” he told Snow, “and we're running +across its path and into it. Now we'll turn about and run the other way. +That ought to bring the glass up. Take in the foresail--it's more than +she can carry already--and stand by to wear her around.” + +The maneuver was accomplished, and through the gloom that was almost +that of the first darkness of evening the _Uncle Toby_ turned and raced +madly north across the face of the storm. + +“It's nip and tuck,” Grief confided to the mate a couple of hours +later. “The storm's swinging a big curve--there's no calculating that +curve--and we may win across or the centre may catch us. Thank the Lord, +the glass is holding its own. It all depends on how big the curve is. +The sea's too big for us to keep on. Heave her to! She'll keep working +along out anyway.” + +“I thought I knew what wind was,” Snow shouted in his owner's ear next +morning. “This isn't wind. It's something unthinkable. It's impossible. +It must reach ninety or a hundred miles an hour in the gusts. That don't +mean anything. How could I ever tell it to anybody? I couldn't. And look +at that sea! I've run my Easting down, but I never saw anything like +that.” + +Day had come, and the sun should have been up an hour, yet the best +it could produce was a sombre semi-twilight. The ocean was a stately +procession of moving mountains. A third of a mile across yawned the +valleys between the great waves. Their long slopes, shielded somewhat +from the full fury of the wind, were broken by systems of smaller +whitecapping waves, but from the high crests of the big waves themselves +the wind tore the whitecaps in the forming. This spume drove masthead +high, and higher, horizontally, above the surface of the sea. + +“We're through the worst,” was Grief's judgment. “The glass is coming +along all the time. The sea will get bigger as the wind eases down. I'm +going to turn in. Watch for shifts in the wind. They'll be sure to come. +Call me at eight bells.” + +By mid-afternoon, in a huge sea, with the wind after its last shift no +more than a stiff breeze, the Tongan bosun sighted a schooner bottom +up. The _Uncle Toby's_ drift took them across the bow and they could +not make out the name; but before night they picked up with a small, +round-bottom, double-ender boat, swamped but with white lettering +visible on its bow. Through the binoculars, Gray made out: _Emily L No. +3_. + +“A sealing schooner,” Grief said. “But what a sealer's doing in these +waters is beyond me.” + +“Treasure-hunters, maybe?” Snow speculated. “The _Sophie Sutherland_ and +the _Herman_ were sealers, you remember, chartered out of San Francisco +by the chaps with the maps who can always go right to the spot until +they get there and don't.” + + + + +III + +After a giddy night of grand and lofty tumbling, in which, over a big +and dying sea, without a breath of wind to steady her, the Uncle Toby +rolled every person on board sick of soul, a light breeze sprang up +and the reefs were shaken out. By midday, on a smooth ocean floor, the +clouds thinned and cleared and sights of the sun were obtained. Two +degrees and fifteen minutes south, the observation gave them. With a +broken chronometer longitude was out of the question. + +“We're anywhere within five hundred and a thousand miles along that +latitude line,” Grief remarked, as he and the mate bent over the chart. + +“Leu-Leu is to the south'ard somewhere, and this section of ocean is all +blank. There is neither an island nor a reef by which we can regulate +the chronometer. The only thing to do--” + +“Land ho, skipper!” the Tongan called down the companionway. + +Grief took a quick glance at the empty blank of the chart, whistled his +surprise, and sank back feebly in a chair. + +“It gets me,” he said. “There can't be land around here. We never +drifted or ran like that. The whole voyage has been crazy. Will you +kindly go up, Mr. Snow, and see what's ailing Jackie.” + +“It's land all right,” the mate called down a minute afterward. “You can +see it from the deck--tops of cocoanuts--an atoll of some sort. Maybe +it's Leu-Leu after all.” + +Grief shook his head positively as he gazed at the fringe of palms, only +the tops visible, apparently rising out of the sea. + +“Haul up on the wind, Mr. Snow, close-and-by, and we'll take a look. +We can just reach past to the south, and if it spreads off in that +direction we'll hit the southwest corner.” + +Very near must palms be to be seen from the low deck of a schooner, and, +slowly as the _Uncle Toby_ sailed, she quickly raised the low land above +the sea, while more palms increased the definition of the atoll circle. + +“She's a beauty,” the mate remarked. “A perfect circle.... Looks as if +it might be eight or nine miles across.... Wonder if there's an entrance +to the lagoon.... Who knows? Maybe it's a brand new find.” + +They coasted up the west side of the atoll, making short tacks in to +the surf-pounded coral rock and out again. From the masthead, across +the palm-fringe, a Kanaka announced the lagoon and a small island in the +middle. + +“I know what you're thinking,” Grief said to his mate. + +Snow, who had been muttering and shaking his head, looked up with quick +and challenging incredulity. + +“You're thinking the entrance will be on the northwest.” Grief went on, +as if reciting. + +“Two cable lengths wide, marked on the north by three separated +cocoanuts, and on the south by pandanus trees. Eight miles in diameter, +a perfect circle, with an island in the dead centre.” + +“I _was_ thinking that,” Snow acknowledged. + +“And there's the entrance opening up just where it ought to be----” + +“And the three palms,” Snow almost whispered, “and the pandanus trees. +If there's a windmill on the island, it's it--Swithin Hall's island. But +it can't be. Everybody's been looking for it for the last ten years.” + +“Hall played you a dirty trick once, didn't he?” Grief queried. + +Snow nodded. “That's why I'm working for you. He broke me flat. It was +downright robbery. I bought the wreck of the _Cascade_, down in Sydney, +out of a first instalment of a legacy from home.” + +“She went on Christmas Island, didn't she?” + +“Yes, full tilt, high and dry, in the night. They saved the passengers +and mails. Then I bought a little island schooner, which took the rest +of my money, and I had to wait the final payment by the executors to fit +her out. What did Swithin Hall do--he was at Honolulu at the time--but +make a straightaway run for Christmas Island. Neither right nor title +did he have. When I got there, the hull and engines were all that was +left of the _Cascade_. She had had a fair shipment of silk on board, +too. And it wasn't even damaged. I got it afterward pretty straight from +his supercargo. He cleared something like sixty thousand dollars.” + +Snow shrugged his shoulders and gazed bleakly at the smooth surface of +the lagoon, where tiny wavelets danced in the afternoon sun. + +“The wreck was mine. I bought her at public auction. I'd gambled big, +and I'd lost. When I got back to Sydney, the crew, and some of the +tradesmen who'd extended me credit, libelled the schooner. I pawned +my watch and sextant, and shovelled coal one spell, and finally got a +billet in the New Hebrides on a screw of eight pounds a month. Then I +tried my luck as independent trader, went broke, took a mate's billet on +a recruiter down to Tanna and over to Fiji, got a job as overseer on a +German plantation back of Apia, and finally settled down on the _Uncle +Toby_.” + +“Have you ever met Swithin Hall?” + +Snow shook his head. + +“Well, you're likely to meet him now. There's the windmill.” + +In the centre of the lagoon, as they emerged from the passage, they +opened a small, densely wooded island, among the trees of which a large +Dutch windmill showed plainly. + +“Nobody at home from the looks of it,” Grief said, “or you might have a +chance to collect.” + +The mate's face set vindictively, and his fists clenched. + +“Can't touch him legally. He's got too much money now. But I can take +sixty thousand dollars' worth out of his hide. I hope he is at home.” + +“Then I hope he is, too,” Grief said, with an appreciative smile. “You +got the description of his island from Bau-Oti, I suppose?” + +“Yes, as pretty well everybody else has. The trouble is that Bau-Oti +can't give latitude or longitude. Says they sailed a long way from the +Gilberts--that's all he knows. I wonder what became of him.” + +“I saw him a year ago on the beach at Tahiti. Said he was thinking about +shipping for a cruise through the Paumotus. Well, here we are, getting +close in. Heave the lead, Jackie-Jackie. Stand by to let go, Mr. Snow. +According to Bau-Oti, anchorage three hundred yards off the west shore +in nine fathoms, coral patches to the southeast. There are the patches. +What do you get, Jackie?” + +“Nine fadom.” + +“Let go, Mr. Snow.” + +The _Uncle Toby_ swung to her chain, head-sails ran down, and the Kanaka +crew sprang to fore and main-halyards and sheets. + + + + +IV + +The whaleboat laid alongside the small, coral-stone landing-pier, and +David Grief and his mate stepped ashore. + +“You'd think the place deserted,” Grief said, as they walked up a sanded +path to the bungalow. “But I smell a smell that I've often smelled. +Something doing, or my nose is a liar. The lagoon is carpeted with +shell. They're rotting the meat out not a thousand miles away. Get that +whiff?” + +Like no bungalow in the tropics was this bungalow of Swithin Hall. Of +mission architecture, when they had entered through the unlatched screen +door they found decoration and furniture of the same mission style. The +floor of the big living-room was covered with the finest Samoan mats. +There were couches, window seats, cozy corners, and a billiard table. A +sewing table, and a sewing-basket, spilling over with sheer linen in the +French embroidery of which stuck a needle, tokened a woman's presence. +By screen and veranda the blinding sunshine was subdued to a cool, dim +radiance. The sheen of pearl push-buttons caught Grief's eye. + +“Storage batteries, by George, run by the windmill!” he exclaimed as he +pressed the buttons. “And concealed lighting!” + +Hidden bowls glowed, and the room was filled with diffused golden light. +Many shelves of books lined the walls. Grief fell to running over +their titles. A fairly well-read man himself, for a sea-adventurer, he +glimpsed a wide-ness of range and catholicity of taste that were beyond +him. Old friends he met, and others that he had heard of but never read. +There were complete sets of Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Gorky; of Cooper +and Mark Twain; of Hugo, and Zola, and Sue; and of Flaubert, De +Maupassant, and Paul de Koch. He glanced curiously at the pages of +Metchnikoff, Weininger, and Schopenhauer, and wonderingly at those +of Ellis, Lydston, Krafft-Ebbing, and Forel. Woodruff's “Expansion of +Races” was in his hands when Snow returned from further exploration of +the house. + +“Enamelled bath-tub, separate room for a shower, and a sitz-bath!” he +exclaimed. “Fitted up for a king! And I reckon some of my money went to +pay for it. The place must be occupied. I found fresh-opened butter and +milk tins in the pantry, and fresh turtle-meat hanging up. I'm going to +see what else I can find.” + +Grief, too, departed, through a door that led out of the opposite end +of the living-room. He found himself in a self-evident woman's bedroom. +Across it, he peered through a wire-mesh door into a screened and +darkened sleeping porch. On a couch lay a woman asleep. In the soft +light she seemed remarkably beautiful in a dark Spanish way. By her +side, opened and face downward, a novel lay on a chair. From the +colour in her cheeks, Grief concluded that she had not been long in the +tropics. After the one glimpse he stole softly back, in time to see Snow +entering the living-room through the other door. By the naked arm he was +clutching an age-wrinkled black who grinned in fear and made signs of +dumbness. + +“I found him snoozing in a little kennel out back,” the mate said. “He's +the cook, I suppose. Can't get a word out of him. What did you find?” + +“A sleeping princess. S-sh! There's somebody now.” + +“If it's Hall,” Snow muttered, clenching his fist. + +Grief shook his head. “No rough-house. There's a woman here. And if it +is Hall, before we go I'll maneuver a chance for you to get action.” + +The door opened, and a large, heavily built man entered. In his belt was +a heavy, long-barrelled Colt's. One quick, anxious look he gave them, +then his face wreathed in a genial smile and his hand was extended. + +“Welcome, strangers. But if you don't mind my asking, how, by all that's +sacred, did you ever manage to find my island?” + +“Because we were out of our course,” Grief answered, shaking hands. + +“My name's Hall, Swithin Hall,” the other said, turning to shake Snow's +hand. “And I don't mind telling you that you're the first visitors I've +ever had.” + +“And this is your secret island that's had all the beaches talking for +years?” Grief answered. “Well, I know the formula now for finding it.” + +“How's that?” Hall asked quickly. + +“Smash your chronometer, get mixed up with a hurricane, and then keep +your eyes open for cocoanuts rising out of the sea.” + +“And what is your name?” Hall asked, after he had laughed perfunctorily. + +“Anstey--Phil Anstey,” Grief answered promptly. “Bound on the _Uncle +Toby_ from the Gilberts to New Guinea, and trying to find my longitude. +This is my mate, Mr. Gray, a better navigator than I, but who has lost +his goat just the same to the chronometer.” + +Grief did not know his reason for lying, but he had felt the prompting +and succumbed to it. He vaguely divined that something was wrong, but +could not place his finger on it. Swithin Hall was a fat, round-faced +man, with a laughing lip and laughter-wrinkles in the corners of his +eyes. But Grief, in his early youth, had learned how deceptive this type +could prove, as well as the deceptiveness of blue eyes that screened the +surface with fun and hid what went on behind. + +“What are you doing with my cook?--lost yours and trying to shanghai +him?” Hall was saying. “You'd better let him go, if you're going to have +any supper. My wife's here, and she'll be glad to meet you--dinner, she +calls it, and calls me down for misnaming it, but I'm old fashioned. My +folks always ate dinner in the middle of the day. Can't get over early +training. Don't you want to wash up? I do. Look at me. I've been working +like a dog--out with the diving crew--shell, you know. But of course you +smelt it.” + + + + +V + +Snow pleaded charge of the schooner, and went on board. In addition to +his repugnance at breaking salt with the man who had robbed him, it was +necessary for him to impress the in-violableness of Grief's lies on the +Kanaka crew. By eleven o'clock Grief came on board, to find his mate +waiting up for him. + +“There's something doing on Swithin Hall's island,” Grief said, shaking +his head. “I can't make out what it is, but I get the feel of it. What +does Swithin Hall look like?” + +Snow shook his head. + +“That man ashore there never bought the books on the shelves,” Grief +declared with conviction. “Nor did he ever go in for concealed lighting. +He's got a surface flow of suavity, but he's rough as a hoof-rasp +underneath. He's an oily bluff. And the bunch he's got with him--Watson +and Gorman their names are; they came in after you left--real sea-dogs, +middle-aged, marred and battered, tough as rusty wrought-iron nails and +twice as dangerous; real ugly customers, with guns in their belts, who +don't strike me as just the right sort to be on such comradely terms +with Swithin Hall. And the woman! She's a lady. I mean it. She knows a +whole lot of South America, and of China, too. I'm sure she's Spanish, +though her English is natural. She's travelled. We talked bull-fights. +She's seen them in Guayaquil, in Mexico, in Seville. She knows a lot +about sealskins. + +“Now here's what bothers me. She knows music. I asked her if she played. +And he's fixed that place up like a palace. That being so, why hasn't +he a piano for her? Another thing: she's quick and lively and he watches +her whenever she talks. He's on pins and needles, and continually +breaking in and leading the conversation. Say, did you ever hear that +Swithin Hall was married?” + +“Bless me, I don't know,” the mate replied. “Never entered my head to +think about it.” + +“He introduced her as Mrs. Hall. And Watson and Gorman call him Hall. +They're a precious pair, those two men. I don't understand it at all.” + +“What are you going to do about it?” Snow asked. + +“Oh, hang around a while. There are some books ashore there I want to +read. Suppose you send that topmast down in the morning and generally +overhaul. We've been through a hurricane, you know. Set up the rigging +while you're about it. Get things pretty well adrift, and take your +time.” + + + + +VI + +The next day Grief's suspicions found further food. Ashore early, +he strolled across the little island to the barracks occupied by the +divers. + +They were just boarding the boats when he arrived, and it struck him +that for Kanakas they behaved more like chain-gang prisoners. The three +white men were there, and Grief noted that each carried a rifle. Hall +greeted him jovially enough, but Gorman and Watson scowled as they +grunted curt good mornings. + +A moment afterward one of the Kanakas, as he bent to place his oar, +favoured Grief with a slow, deliberate wink. The man's face was +familiar, one of the thousands of native sailors and divers he had +encountered drifting about in the island trade. + +“Don't tell them who I am,” Grief said, in Tahitian. “Did you ever sail +for me?” + +The man's head nodded and his mouth opened, but before he could speak +he was suppressed by a savage “Shut up!” from Watson, who was already in +the sternsheets. + +“I beg pardon,” Grief said. “I ought to have known better.” + +“That's all right,” Hall interposed. “The trouble is they're too much +talk and not enough work. Have to be severe with them, or they wouldn't +get enough shell to pay their grub.” + +Grief nodded sympathetically. “I know them. Got a crew of them +myself--the lazy swine. Got to drive them like niggers to get a +half-day's work out of them.” + +“What was you sayin' to him?” Gorman blurted in bluntly. + +“I was asking how the shell was, and how deep they were diving.” + +“Thick,” Hall took over the answering. “We're working now in about ten +fathom. It's right out there, not a hundred yards off. Want to come +along?” + +Half the day Grief spent with the boats, and had lunch in the bungalow. +In the afternoon he loafed, taking a siesta in the big living-room, +reading some, and talking for half an hour with Mrs. Hall. After dinner, +he played billiards with her husband. It chanced that Grief had never +before encountered Swithin Hall, yet the latter's fame as an expert at +billiards was the talk of the beaches from Levuka to Honolulu. But the +man Grief played with this night proved most indifferent at the game. +His wife showed herself far cleverer with the cue. + +When he went on board the _Uncle Toby_ Grief routed Jackie-Jackie out of +bed. He described the location of the barracks, and told the Tongan +to swim softly around and have talk with the Kanakas. In two hours +Jackie-Jackie was back. He shook his head as he stood dripping before +Grief. + +“Very funny t'ing,” he reported. “One white man stop all the time. He +has big rifle. He lay in water and watch. Maybe twelve o'clock, other +white man come and take rifle. First white man go to bed. Other man stop +now with rifle. No good. Me cannot talk with Kanakas. Me come back.” + +“By George!” Grief said to Snow, after the Tongan had gone back to his +bunk. “I smell something more than shell. Those three men are standing +watches over their Kanakas. That man's no more Swithin Hall than I am.” + +Snow whistled from the impact of a new idea. + +“I've got it!” he cried. + +“And I'll name it,” Grief retorted, “It's in your mind that the _Emily +L._ was their schooner?” + +“Just that. They're raising and rotting the shell, while she's gone for +more divers, or provisions, or both.” + +“And I agree with you.” Grief glanced at the cabin clock and evinced +signs of bed-going. “He's a sailor. The three of them are. But they're +not island men. They're new in these waters.” + +Again Snow whistled. + +“And the _Emily L._ is lost with all hands,” he said. “We know that. +They're marooned here till Swithin Hall comes. Then he'll catch them +with all the shell.” + +“Or they'll take possession of his schooner.” + +“Hope they do!” Snow muttered vindictively. “Somebody ought to rob him. +Wish I was in their boots. I'd balance off that sixty thousand.” + + + + +VII + +A week passed, during which time the _Uncle Toby_ was ready for sea, +while Grief managed to allay any suspicion of him by the shore crowd. + +Even Gorman and Watson accepted him at his self-description. Throughout +the week Grief begged and badgered them for the longitude of the island. + +“You wouldn't have me leave here lost,” he finally urged. “I can't get a +line on my chronometer without your longitude.” + +Hall laughingly refused. + +“You're too good a navigator, Mr. Anstey, not to fetch New Guinea or +some other high land.” + +“And you're too good a navigator, Mr. Hall,” Grief replied, “not to know +that I can fetch your island any time by running down its latitude.” + +On the last evening, ashore, as usual, to dinner, Grief got his first +view of the pearls they had collected. Mrs. Hall, waxing enthusiastic, +had asked her husband to bring forth the “pretties,” and had spent half +an hour showing them to Grief. His delight in them was genuine, as well +as was his surprise that they had made so rich a haul. + +“The lagoon is virgin,” Hall explained. “You saw yourself that most +of the shell is large and old. But it's funny that we got most of the +valuable pearls in one small patch in the course of a week. It was a +little treasure house. Every oyster seemed filled--seed pearls by the +quart, of course, but the perfect ones, most of that bunch there, came +out of the small patch.” + +Grief ran his eye over them and knew their value ranged from one hundred +to a thousand dollars each, while the several selected large ones went +far beyond. + +“Oh, the pretties! the pretties!” Mrs. Hall cried, bending forward +suddenly and kissing them. + +A few minutes later she arose to say good-night. + +“It's good-bye,” Grief said, as he took her hand. “We sail at daylight.” + +“So suddenly!” she cried, while Grief could not help seeing the quick +light of satisfaction in her husband's eyes. + +“Yes,” Grief continued. “All the repairs are finished. I can't get the +longitude of your island out of your husband, though I'm still in hopes +he'll relent.” + +Hall laughed and shook his head, and, as his wife left the room, +proposed a last farewell nightcap. They sat over it, smoking and +talking. + +“What do you estimate they're worth?” Grief asked, indicating the spread +of pearls on the table. “I mean what the pearl-buyers would give you in +open market?” + +“Oh, seventy-five or eighty thousand,” Hall said carelessly. + +“I'm afraid you're underestimating. I know pearls a bit. Take that +biggest one. It's perfect. Not a cent less than five thousand dollars. +Some multimillionaire will pay double that some day, when the dealers +have taken their whack. And never minding the seed pearls, you've got +quarts of baroques there. And baroques are coming into fashion. They're +picking up and doubling on themselves every year.” + +Hall gave the trove of pearls a closer and longer scrutiny, estimating +the different parcels and adding the sum aloud. + +“You're right,” he admitted. “They're worth a hundred thousand right +now.” + +“And at what do you figure your working expenses?” Grief went on. “Your +time, and your two men's, and the divers'?” + +“Five thousand would cover it.” + +“Then they stand to net you ninety-five thousand?” + +“Something like that. But why so curious?” + +“Why, I was just trying----” Grief paused and drained his glass. “Just +trying to reach some sort of an equitable arrangement. Suppose I should +give you and your people a passage to Sydney and the five thousand +dollars--or, better, seven thousand five hundred. You've worked hard.” + +Without commotion or muscular movement the other man became alert and +tense. His round-faced geniality went out like the flame of a snuffed +candle. No laughter clouded the surface of the eyes, and in their +depths showed the hard, dangerous soul of the man. He spoke in a low, +deliberate voice. + +“Now just what in hell do you mean by that?” + +Grief casually relighted his cigar. + +“I don't know just how to begin,” he said. “The situation is--er--is +embarrassing for you. You see, I'm trying to be fair. As I say, you've +worked hard. I don't want to confiscate the pearls. I want to pay you +for your time and trouble, and expense.” + +Conviction, instantaneous and absolute, froze on the other's face. + +“And I thought you were in Europe,” he muttered. Hope flickered for +a moment. “Look here, you're joking me. How do I know you're Swithin +Hall?” + +Grief shrugged his shoulders. “Such a joke would be in poor taste, after +your hospitality. And it is equally in poor taste to have two Swithin +Halls on the island.” + +“Since you're Swithin Hall, then who the deuce am I? Do you know that, +too?” + +“No,” Grief answered airily. “But I'd like to know.” + +“Well, it's none of your business.” + +“I grant it. Your identity is beside the point. Besides, I know your +schooner, and I can find out who you are from that.” + +“What's her name?” + +“The _Emily L._ + +“Correct. I'm Captain Raffy, owner and master.” + +“The seal-poacher? I've heard of you. What under the sun brought you +down here on my preserves?” + +“Needed the money. The seal herds are about finished.” + +“And the out-of-the-way places of the world are better policed, eh?” + +“Pretty close to it. And now about this present scrape, Mr. Hall. I can +put up a nasty fight. What are you going to do about it?” + +“What I said. Even better. What's the _Emily L._ worth?” + +“She's seen her day. Not above ten thousand, which would be robbery. +Every time she's in a rough sea I'm afraid she'll jump her ballast +through her planking.” + +“She has jumped it, Captain Raffy. I sighted her bottom-up after the +blow. Suppose we say she was worth seven thousand five hundred. I'll +pay over to you fifteen thousand and give you a passage. Don't move your +hands from your lap.” Grief stood up, went over to him, and took his +revolver. “Just a necessary precaution, Captain. Now you'll go on board +with me. I'll break the news to Mrs. Raffy afterward, and fetch her out +to join you.” + +“You're behaving handsomely, Mr. Hall, I must say,” Captain Raffy +volunteered, as the whaleboat came alongside the _Uncle Toby_. “But +watch out for Gorman and Watson. They're ugly customers. And, by the +way, I don't like to mention it, but you've seen my wife. I've given her +four or five pearls. Watson and Gorman were willing.” + +“Say no more, Captain. Say no more. They shall remain hers. Is that you, +Mr. Snow? Here's a friend I want you to take charge of--Captain Raffy. +I'm going ashore for his wife.” + + + + +VIII + +David Grief sat writing at the library table in the bungalow +living-room. Outside, the first pale of dawn was showing. He had had a +busy night. Mrs. Raffy had taken two hysterical hours to pack her and +Captain Raffy's possessions. Gorman had been caught asleep, but Watson, +standing guard over the divers, had shown fight. Matters did not reach +the shooting stage, but it was only after it had been demonstrated to +him that the game was up that he consented to join his companions on +board. For temporary convenience, he and Gorman were shackled in the +mate's room, Mrs. Raffy was confined in Grief's, and Captain Raffy made +fast to the cabin table. + +Grief finished the document and read over what he had written: + + To Swithin Hall, + for pearls taken from his lagoon (estimated) $100,000 + + To Herbert Snow, paid in full for salvage from + steamship Cascade in pearls (estimated) $60,000 + + To Captain Raffy, salary and expenses for + collecting pearls 7,500 + + To Captain Raffy, reimbursement for + schooner Emily L., lost in hurricane 7,500 + + To Mrs. Raffy, for good will, five fair + pearls (estimated) 1,100 + + To passage to Syndey, four persons, + at $120. 480 + + To white lead for painting Swithin + Hall's two whaleboats 9 + + To Swithin Hall, balance in pearls (estimated) + which are to be found in drawer of library table 23,411 + + $100,000--$100,000 + +Grief signed and dated, paused, and added at the bottom: + + _P. S.--Still owing to Swithin Hall three books, borrowed + from library: Hudson's “Law of Psychic Phenomena,” Zola's + “Paris,” and Mahan's “Problem of Asia.” These books, or full + value, can be collected of said David Griefs Sydney office_. + +He shut off the electric light, picked up the bundle of books, carefully +latched the front door, and went down to the waiting whaleboat. + + + + +Chapter Six--A GOBOTO NIGHT + + + + +I + +At Goboto the traders come off their schooners and the planters drift +in from far, wild coasts, and one and all they assume shoes, white duck +trousers, and various other appearances of civilization. At Goboto mail +is received, bills are paid, and newspapers, rarely more than five weeks +old, are accessible; for the little island, belted with its coral reefs, +affords safe anchorage, is the steamer port of call, and serves as the +distributing point for the whole wide-scattered group. + +Life at Goboto is heated, unhealthy, and lurid, and for its size it +asserts the distinction of more cases of acute alcoholism than any other +spot in the world. Guvutu, over in the Solomons, claims that it drinks +between drinks. Goboto does not deny this. It merely states, in passing, +that in the Goboton chronology no such interval of time is known. It +also points out its import statistics, which show a far larger per +capita consumption of spiritous liquors. Guvutu explains this on the +basis that Goboto does a larger business and has more visitors. Goboto +retorts that its resident population is smaller and that its visitors +are thirstier. And the discussion goes on interminably, principally +because of the fact that the disputants do not live long enough to +settle it. + +Goboto is not large. The island is only a quarter of a mile in diameter, +and on it are situated an admiralty coal-shed (where a few tons of coal +have lain untouched for twenty years), the barracks for a handful of +black labourers, a big store and warehouse with sheet-iron roofs, and a +bungalow inhabited by the manager and his two clerks. They are the white +population. An average of one man out of the three is always to be found +down with fever. The job at Goboto is a hard one. It is the policy of +the company to treat its patrons well, as invading companies have found +out, and it is the task of the manager and clerks to do the treating. +Throughout the year traders and recruiters arrive from far, dry cruises, +and planters from equally distant and dry shores, bringing with them +magnificent thirsts. Goboto is the mecca of sprees, and when they have +spread they go back to their schooners and plantations to recuperate. + +Some of the less hardy require as much as six months between visits. But +for the manager and his assistants there are no such intervals. They are +on the spot, and week by week, blown in by monsoon or southeast +trade, the schooners come to anchor, cargo'd with copra, ivory nuts, +pearl-shell, hawksbill turtle, and thirst. + +It is a very hard job at Goboto. That is why the pay is twice that on +other stations, and that is why the company selects only courageous and +intrepid men for this particular station. They last no more than a year +or so, when the wreckage of them is shipped back to Australia, or the +remains of them are buried in the sand across on the windward side of +the islet. Johnny Bassett, almost the legendary hero of Goboto, broke +all records. He was a remittance man with a remarkable constitution, +and he lasted seven years. His dying request was duly observed by his +clerks, who pickled him in a cask of trade-rum (paid for out of +their own salaries) and shipped him back to his people in England. +Nevertheless, at Goboto, they tried to be gentlemen. For that matter, +though something was wrong with them, they were gentlemen, and had been +gentlemen. That was why the great unwritten rule of Goboto was that +visitors should put on pants and shoes. Breech-clouts, lava-lavas, and +bare legs were not tolerated. When Captain Jensen, the wildest of the +Blackbirders though descended from old New York Knickerbocker stock, +surged in, clad in loin-cloth, undershirt, two belted revolvers and +a sheath-knife, he was stopped at the beach. This was in the days of +Johnny Bassett, ever a stickler in matters of etiquette. Captain Jensen +stood up in the sternsheets of his whaleboat and denied the existence of +pants on his schooner. Also, he affirmed his intention of coming ashore. +They of Goboto nursed him back to health from a bullet-hole through his +shoulder, and in addition handsomely begged his pardon, for no pants +had they found on his schooner. And finally, on the first day he sat up, +Johnny Bassett kindly but firmly assisted his guest into a pair of pants +of his own. This was the great precedent. In all the succeeding years it +had never been violated. White men and pants were undivorce-able. Only +niggers ran naked. Pants constituted caste. + + + + +II + +On this night things were, with one exception, in nowise different from +any other night. Seven of them, with glimmering eyes and steady legs, +had capped a day of Scotch with swivel-sticked cocktails and sat down to +dinner. Jacketed, trousered, and shod, they were: Jerry McMurtrey, the +manager; Eddy Little and Jack Andrews, clerks; Captain Stapler, of the +recruiting ketch _Merry_; Darby Shryleton, planter from Tito-Ito; Peter +Gee, a half-caste Chinese pearl-buyer who ranged from Ceylon to the +Paumotus, and Alfred Deacon, a visitor who had stopped off from the last +steamer. At first wine was served by the black servants to those that +drank it, though all quickly shifted back to Scotch and soda, pickling +their food as they ate it, ere it went into their calcined, pickled +stomachs. + +Over their coffee, they heard the rumble of an anchor-chain through a +hawse-pipe, tokening the arrival of a vessel. + +“It's David Grief,” Peter Gee remarked. + +“How do you know?” Deacon demanded truculently, and then went on to deny +the half-caste's knowledge. “You chaps put on a lot of side over a new +chum. I've done some sailing myself, and this naming a craft when +its sail is only a blur, or naming a man by the sound of his +anchor--it's--it's unadulterated poppycock.” + +Peter Gee was engaged in lighting a cigarette, and did not answer. + +“Some of the niggers do amazing things that way,” McMurtrey interposed +tactfully. + +As with the others, this conduct of their visitor jarred on the manager. +From the moment of Peter Gee's arrival that afternoon Deacon had +manifested a tendency to pick on him. He had disputed his statements and +been generally rude. + +“Maybe it's because Peter's got Chink blood in him,” had been Andrews' +hypothesis. “Deacon's Australian, you know, and they're daffy down there +on colour.” + +“I fancy that's it,” McMurtrey had agreed. “But we can't permit any +bullying, especially of a man like Peter Gee, who's whiter than most +white men.” + +In this the manager had been in nowise wrong. Peter Gee was that rare +creature, a good as well as clever Eurasian. In fact, it was the +stolid integrity of the Chinese blood that toned the recklessness and +licentiousness of the English blood which had run in his father's veins. +Also, he was better educated than any man there, spoke better English +as well as several other tongues, and knew and lived more of their own +ideals of gentlemanness than they did themselves. And, finally, he was +a gentle soul. Violence he deprecated, though he had killed men in his +time. Turbulence he abhorred. + +He always avoided it as he would the plague. + +Captain Stapler stepped in to help McMurtrey: + +“I remember, when I changed schooners and came into Altman, the niggers +knew right off the bat it was me. I wasn't expected, either, much less +to be in another craft. They told the trader it was me. He used the +glasses, and wouldn't believe them. But they did know. Told me afterward +they could see it sticking out all over the schooner that I was running +her.” + +Deacon ignored him, and returned to the attack on the pearl-buyer. + +“How do you know from the sound of the anchor that it was this +whatever-you-called-him man?” he challenged. + +“There are so many things that go to make up such a judgment,” Peter +Gee answered. “It's very hard to explain. It would require almost a text +book.” + +“I thought so,” Deacon sneered. “Explanation that doesn't explain is +easy.” + +“Who's for bridge?” Eddy Little, the second clerk, interrupted, looking +up expectantly and starting to shuffle. “You'll play, won't you, Peter?” + +“If he does, he's a bluffer,” Deacon cut back. “I'm getting tired of all +this poppycock. Mr. Gee, you will favour me and put yourself in a +better light if you tell how you know who that man was that just dropped +anchor. After that I'll play you piquet.” + +“I'd prefer bridge,” Peter answered. “As for the other thing, +it's something like this: By the sound it was a small craft--no +square-rigger. No whistle, no siren, was blown--again a small craft. It +anchored close in--still again a small craft, for steamers and big ships +must drop hook outside the middle shoal. Now the entrance is tortuous. +There is no recruiting nor trading captain in the group who dares to run +the passage after dark. Certainly no stranger would. There _were_ two +exceptions. The first was Margonville. But he was executed by the High +Court at Fiji. Remains the other exception, David Grief. Night or +day, in any weather, he runs the passage. This is well known to all. A +possible factor, in case Grief were somewhere else, would be some young +dare-devil of a skipper. In this connection, in the first place, I don't +know of any, nor does anybody else. In the second place, David Grief is +in these waters, cruising on the _Gunga_, which is shortly scheduled to +leave here for Karo-Karo. I spoke to Grief, on the _Gunga_, in Sandfly +Passage, day before yesterday. He was putting a trader ashore on a new +station. He said he was going to call in at Babo, and then come on to +Goboto. He has had ample time to get here. I have heard an anchor drop. +Who else than David Grief can it be? Captain Donovan is skipper of the +_Gunga_, and him I know too well to believe that he'd run in to Goboto +after dark unless his owner were in charge. In a few minutes David +Grief will enter through that door and say, 'In Guvutu they merely drink +between drinks.' I'll wager fifty pounds he's the man that enters and +that his words will be, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks. '” + Deacon was for the moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in his +face. + +“Well, he's answered you,” McMurtrey laughed genially. “And I'll back +his bet myself for a couple of sovereigns.” + +“Bridge! Who's going to take a hand?” Eddy Little cried impatiently. +“Come on, Peter!” + +“The rest of you play,” Deacon said. “He and I are going to play +piquet.” + +“I'd prefer bridge,” Peter Gee said mildly. + +“Don't you play piquet?” + +The pearl-buyer nodded. + +“Then come on. Maybe I can show I know more about that than I do about +anchors.” + +“Oh, I say----” McMurtrey began. + +“You can play bridge,” Deacon shut him off. “We prefer piquet.” + +Reluctantly, Peter Gee was bullied into a game that he knew would be +unhappy. + +“Only a rubber,” he said, as he cut for deal. + +“For how much?” Deacon asked. + +Peter Gee shrugged his shoulders. “As you please.” + +“Hundred up--five pounds a game?” + +Peter Gee agreed. + +“With the lurch double, of course, ten pounds?” + +“All right,” said Peter Gee. + +At another table four of the others sat in at bridge. Captain Stapler, +who was no card-player, looked on and replenished the long glasses +of Scotch that stood at each man's right hand. McMurtrey, with poorly +concealed apprehension, followed as well as he could what went on at +the piquet table. His fellow Englishmen as well were shocked by the +behaviour of the Australian, and all were troubled by fear of some +untoward act on his part. That he was working up his animosity against +the half-caste, and that the explosion might come any time, was apparent +to all. + +“I hope Peter loses,” McMurtrey said in an undertone. + +“Not if he has any luck,” Andrews answered. “He's a wizard at piquet. I +know by experience.” + +That Peter Gee was lucky was patent from the continual badgering of +Deacon, who filled his glass frequently. He had lost the first game, +and, from his remarks, was losing the second, when the door opened and +David Grief entered. + +“In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks,” he remarked casually to +the assembled company, ere he gripped the manager's hand. “Hello, Mac! +Say, my skipper's down in the whaleboat. He's got a silk shirt, a tie, +and tennis shoes, all complete, but he wants you to send a pair of pants +down. Mine are too small, but yours will fit him. Hello, Eddy! How's +that _ngari-ngari?_ You up, Jock? The miracle has happened. No one down +with fever, and no one remarkably drunk.” He sighed, “I suppose the +night is young yet. Hello, Peter! Did you catch that big squall an hour +after you left us? We had to let go the second anchor.” + +While he was being introduced to Deacon, McMurtrey dispatched a +house-boy with the pants, and when Captain Donovan came in it was as a +white man should--at least in Goboto. + +Deacon lost the second game, and an outburst heralded the fact. Peter +Gee devoted himself to lighting a cigarette and keeping quiet. + +“What?--are you quitting because you're ahead?” Deacon demanded. + +Grief raised his eyebrows questioningly to McMurtrey, who frowned back +his own disgust. + +“It's the rubber,” Peter Gee answered. + +“It takes three games to make a rubber. It's my deal. Come on!” + +Peter Gee acquiesced, and the third game was on. + +“Young whelp--he needs a lacing,” McMurtrey muttered to Grief. “Come on, +let us quit, you chaps. I want to keep an eye on him. If he goes too far +I'll throw him out on the beach, company instructions or no.” + +“Who is he?” Grief queried. + +“A left-over from last steamer. Company's orders to treat him nice. He's +looking to invest in a plantation. Has a ten-thousand-pound letter of +credit with the company. He's got 'all-white Australia' on the brain. +Thinks because his skin is white and because his father was once +Attorney-General of the Commonwealth that he can be a cur. That's why +he's picking on Peter, and you know Peter's the last man in the world +to make trouble or incur trouble. Damn the company. I didn't engage +to wet-nurse its infants with bank accounts. Come on, fill your glass, +Grief. The man's a blighter, a blithering blighter.” + +“Maybe he's only young,” Grief suggested. + +“He can't contain his drink--that's clear.” The manager glared his +disgust and wrath. “If he raises a hand to Peter, so help me, I'll give +him a licking myself, the little overgrown cad!” + +The pearl-buyer pulled the pegs out of the cribbage board on which he +was scoring and sat back. He had won the third game. He glanced across +to Eddy Little, saying: + +“I'm ready for the bridge, now.” + +“I wouldn't be a quitter,” Deacon snarled. + +“Oh, really, I'm tired of the game,” Peter Gee assured him with his +habitual quietness. + +“Come on and be game,” Deacon bullied. “One more. You can't take my +money that way. I'm out fifteen pounds. Double or quits.” + +McMurtrey was about to interpose, but Grief restrained him with his +eyes. + +“If it positively is the last, all right,” said Peter Gee, gathering up +the cards. “It's my deal, I believe. As I understand it, this final is +for fifteen pounds. Either you owe me thirty or we quit even?” + +“That's it, chappie. Either we break even or I pay you thirty.” + +“Getting blooded, eh?” Grief remarked, drawing up a chair. + +The other men stood or sat around the table, and Deacon played again +in bad luck. That he was a good player was clear. The cards were merely +running against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimity +was equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snapped +and growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Gee +counted out, while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. He +glowered speechlessly at his opponent. + +“Looks like a lurch,” said Grief. + +“Which is double,” said Peter Gee. + +“There's no need your telling me,” Deacon snarled. “I've studied +arithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!” + +The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table was +an insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals of +resentment. + +“You've got fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you that +much,” Deacon went on. “I could teach you cards.” + +The half-caste smiled and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money. + +“There's a little game called casino--I wonder if you ever heard of +it?--a child's game.” + +“I've seen it played,” the half-caste murmured gently. + +“What's that?” snapped Deacon. “Maybe you think you can play it?” + +“Oh, no, not for a moment. I'm afraid I haven't head enough for it.” + +“It's a bully game, casino,” Grief broke in pleasantly. “I like it very +much.” + +Deacon ignored him. + +“I'll play you ten quid a game--thirty-one points out,” was the +challenge to Peter Gee. “And I'll show you how little you know about +cards. Come on! Where's a full deck?” + +“No, thanks,” the half-caste answered. “They are waiting for me in order +to make up a bridge set.” + +“Yes, come on,” Eddy Little begged eagerly. “Come on, Peter, let's get +started.” + +“Afraid of a little game like casino,” Deacon girded. “Maybe the stakes +are too high. I'll play you for pennies--or farthings, if you say so.” + +The man's conduct was a hurt and an affront to all of them. McMurtrey +could stand it no longer. + +“Now hold on, Deacon. He says he doesn't want to play. Let him alone.” + +Deacon turned raging upon his host; but before he could blurt out his +abuse, Grief had stepped into the breach. + +“I'd like to play casino with you,” he said. + +“What do you know about it?” + +“Not much, but I'm willing to learn.” + +“Well, I'm not teaching for pennies to-night.” + +“Oh, that's all right,” Grief answered. “I'll play for almost any +sum--within reason, of course.” + +Deacon proceeded to dispose of this intruder with one stroke. + +“I'll play you a hundred pounds a game, if that will do you any good.” + +Grief beamed his delight. “That will be all right, very right. Let us +begin. Do you count sweeps?” + +Deacon was taken aback. He had not expected a Goboton trader to be +anything but crushed by such a proposition. + +“Do you count sweeps?” Grief repeated. + +Andrews had brought him a new deck, and he was throwing out the joker. + +“Certainly not,” Deacon answered. “That's a sissy game.” + +“I'm glad,” Grief coincided. “I don't like sissy games either.” + +“You don't, eh? Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll play for +five hundred pounds a game.” + +Again Deacon was taken aback. + +“I'm agreeable,” Grief said, beginning to shuffle. “Cards and spades go +out first, of course, and then big and little casino, and the aces in +the bridge order of value. Is that right?” + +“You're a lot of jokers down here,” Deacon laughed, but his laughter was +strained. “How do I know you've got the money?” + +“By the same token I know you've got it. Mac, how's my credit with the +company?” + +“For all you want,” the manager answered. + +“You personally guarantee that?” Deacon demanded. + +“I certainly do,” McMurtrey said. “Depend upon it, the company will +honour his paper up and past your letter of credit.” + +“Low deals,” Grief said, placing the deck before Deacon on the table. + +The latter hesitated in the midst of the cut and looked around with +querulous misgiving at the faces of the others. The clerks and captains +nodded. + +“You're all strangers to me,” Deacon complained. “How am I to know? +Money on paper isn't always the real thing.” + +Then it was that Peter Gee, drawing a wallet from his pocket and +borrowing a fountain pen from McMurtrey, went into action. + +“I haven't gone to buying yet,” the half-caste explained, “so the +account is intact. I'll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It's for +fifteen thousand. There, look at it.” + +Deacon intercepted the letter of credit as it was being passed across +the table. He read it slowly, then glanced up at McMurtrey. + +“Is that right?” + +“Yes. It's just the same as your own, and just as good. The company's +paper is always good.” + +Deacon cut the cards, won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle. +But his luck was still against him, and he lost the game. + +“Another game,” he said. “We didn't say how many, and you can't quit +with me a loser. I want action.” + +Grief shuffled and passed the cards for the cut. + +“Let's play for a thousand,” Deacon said, when he had lost the second +game. And when the thousand had gone the way of the two five hundred +bets he proposed to play for two thousand. + +“That's progression,” McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glare +from Deacon. But the manager was insistent. “You don't have to play +progression, Grief, unless you're foolish.” + +“Who's playing this game?” Deacon flamed at his host; and then, to +Grief: “I've lost two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?” + +Grief nodded, the fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifest +unfairness of such betting was known to all of them. Though he had lost +three games out of four, Deacon had lost no money. By the child's device +of doubling his wager with each loss, he was bound, with the first game +he won, no matter how long delayed, to be even again. + +He now evinced an unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck to +be cut. + +“What?” Deacon cried. “You want more?” + +“Haven't got anything yet,” Grief murmured whimsically, as he began the +deal. “For the usual five hundred, I suppose?” + +The shame of what he had done must have tingled in Deacon, for he +answered, “No, we'll play for a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points is +too long. Why not twenty-one points out--if it isn't too rapid for you?” + +“That will make it a nice, quick, little game,” Grief agreed. + +The former method of play was repeated. Deacon lost two games, doubled +the stake, and was again even. But Grief was patient, though the thing +occurred several times in the next hour's play. Then happened what he +was waiting for--a lengthening in the series of losing games for Deacon. +The latter doubled to four thousand and lost, doubled to eight thousand +and lost, and then proposed to double to sixteen thousand. + +Grief shook his head. “You can't do that, you know. You're only ten +thousand credit with the company.” + +“You mean you won't give me action?” Deacon asked hoarsely. “You mean +that with eight thousand of my money you're going to quit?” + +Grief smiled and shook his head. + +“It's robbery, plain robbery,” Deacon went on. “You take my money and +won't give me action.” + +“No, you're wrong. I'm perfectly willing to give you what action you've +got coming to you. You've got two thousand pounds of action yet.” + +“Well, we'll play it,” Deacon took him up. “You cut.” + +The game was played in silence, save for irritable remarks and curses +from Deacon. Silently the onlookers filled and sipped their long +Scotch glasses. Grief took no notice of his opponent's outbursts, but +concentrated on the game. He was really playing cards, and there were +fifty-two in the deck to be kept track of, and of which he did keep +track. Two thirds of the way through the last deal he threw down his +hand. + +“Cards put me out,” he said. “I have twenty-seven.” + +“If you've made a mistake,” Deacon threatened, his face white and drawn. + +“Then I shall have lost. Count them.” + +Grief passed over his stack of takings, and Deacon, with trembling +fingers, verified the count. He half shoved his chair back from the +table and emptied his glass. He looked about him at unsympathetic faces. + +“I fancy I'll be catching the next steamer for Sydney,” he said, and for +the first time his speech was quiet and without bluster. + +As Grief told them afterward: “Had he whined or raised a roar I wouldn't +have given him that last chance. As it was, he took his medicine like a +man, and I had to do it.” + +Deacon glanced at his watch, simulated a weary yawn, and started to +rise. + +“Wait,” Grief said. “Do you want further action?” + +The other sank down in his chair, strove to speak, but could not, licked +his dry lips, and nodded his head. + +“Captain Donovan here sails at daylight in the _Gunga_ for Karo-Karo,” + Grief began with seeming irrelevance. “Karo-Karo is a ring of sand in +the sea, with a few thousand cocoa-nut trees. Pandanus grows there, but +they can't grow sweet potatoes nor taro. There aremabout eight hundred +natives, a king and two prime ministers, and the last three named are +the only ones who wear any clothes. It's a sort of God-forsaken little +hole, and once a year I send a schooner up from Goboto. The drinking +water is brackish, but old Tom Butler has survived on it for a dozen +years. He's the only white man there, and he has a boat's crew of five +Santa Cruz boys who would run away or kill him if they could. That is +why they were sent there. They can't run away. He is always supplied +with the hard cases from the plantations. There are no missionaries. +Two native Samoan teachers were clubbed to death on the beach when they +landed several years ago. + +“Naturally, you are wondering what it is all about. But have patience. +As I have said, Captain Donovan sails on the annual trip to Karo-Karo at +daylight to-morrow. Tom Butler is old, and getting quite helpless. I've +tried to retire him to Australia, but he says he wants to remain and +die on Karo-Karo, and he will in the next year or so. He's a queer old +codger. Now the time is due for me to send some white man up to take the +work off his hands. I wonder how you'd like the job. You'd have to stay +two years. + +“Hold on! I've not finished. You've talked frequently of action this +evening. There's no action in betting away what you've never sweated +for. The money you've lost to me was left you by your father or some +other relative who did the sweating. But two years of work as trader on +Karo-Karo would mean something. I'll bet the ten thousand I've won from +you against two years of your time. If you win, the money's yours. If +you lose, you take the job at Karo-Karo and sail at daylight. Now that's +what might be called real action. Will you play?” + +Deacon could not speak. His throat lumped and he nodded his head as he +reached for the cards. + +“One thing more,” Grief said. “I can do even better. If you lose, two +years of your time are mine--naturally without wages. Nevertheless, +I'll pay you wages. If your work is satisfactory, if you observe all +instructions and rules, I'll pay you five thousand pounds a year for two +years. The money will be deposited with the company, to be paid to you, +with interest, when the time expires. Is that all right?” + +“Too much so,” Deacon stammered. “You are unfair to yourself. A trader +only gets ten or fifteen pounds a month.” + +“Put it down to action, then,” Grief said, with an air of dismissal. +“And before we begin, I'll jot down several of the rules. These you will +repeat aloud every morning during the two years--if you lose. They +are for the good of your soul. When you have repeated them aloud seven +hundred and thirty Karo-Karo mornings I am confident they will be in +your memory to stay. Lend me your pen, Mac. Now, let's see----” + +He wrote steadily and rapidly for some minutes, then proceeded to read +the matter aloud: + +“_I must always remember that one man is as good as another, save and +except when he thinks he is better._ + +“_No matter how drunk I am I must not fail to be a gentleman. A +gentleman is a man who is gentle. Note: It would be better not to get +drunk_. + +“_When I play a man's game with men, I must play like a man_. + +“_A good curse, rightly used and rarely, is an efficient thing. Too many +curses spoil the cursing. Note: A curse cannot change a card seguence +nor cause the wind to blow._ + +“_There is no license for a man to be less than a man. Ten thousand +pounds cannot purchase such a license._” + +At the beginning of the reading Deacon's face had gone white with anger. +Then had arisen, from neck to forehead, a slow and terrible flush that +deepened to the end of the reading. + +“There, that will be all,” Grief said, as he folded the paper and tossed +it to the centre of the table. “Are you still ready to play the game?” + +“I deserve it,” Deacon muttered brokenly. “I've been an ass. Mr. Gee, +before I know whether I win or lose, I want to apologize. Maybe it was +the whiskey, I don't know, but I'm an ass, a cad, a bounder--everything +that's rotten.” + +He held out his hand, and the half-caste took it beamingly. + +“I say, Grief,” he blurted out, “the boy's all right. Call the whole +thing off, and let's forget it in a final nightcap.” + +Grief showed signs of debating, but Deacon cried: + +“No; I won't permit it. I'm not a quitter. If it's Karo-Karo, it's +Karo-Karo. There's nothing more to it.” + +“Right,” said Grief, as he began the shuffle. “If he's the right stuff +to go to Karo-Karo, Karo-Karo won't do him any harm.” + +The game was close and hard. Three times they divided the deck between +them and “cards” was not scored. At the beginning of the fifth and +last deal, Deacon needed three points to go out, and Grief needed four. +“Cards” alone would put Deacon out, and he played for “cards”. He no +longer muttered or cursed, and played his best game of the evening. +Incidentally he gathered in the two black aces and the ace of hearts. + +“I suppose you can name the four cards I hold,” he challenged, as the +last of the deal was exhausted and he picked up his hand. + +Grief nodded. + +“Then name them.” + +“The knave of spades, the deuce of spades, the tray of hearts, and the +ace of diamonds,” Grief answered. + +Those behind Deacon and looking at his hand made no sign. Yet the naming +had been correct. + +“I fancy you play casino better than I,” Deacon acknowledged. “I can +name only three of yours, a knave, an ace, and big casino.” + +“Wrong. There aren't five aces in the deck. You've taken in three and +you hold the fourth in your hand now.” + +“By Jove, you're right,” Deacon admitted. “I did scoop in three. Anyway, +I'll make 'cards' on you. That's all I need.” + +“I'll let you save little casino----” Grief paused to calculate. “Yes, +and the ace as well, and still I'll make 'cards' and go out with big +casino. Play.” + +“No 'cards' and I win!” Deacon exulted as the last of the hand was +played. “I go out on little casino and the four aces. 'Big casino' and +'spades' only bring you to twenty.” + +Grief shook his head. “Some mistake, I'm afraid.” + +“No,” Deacon declared positively. “I counted every card I took in. +That's the one thing I was correct on. I've twenty-six, and you've +twenty-six.” + +“Count again,” Grief said. + +Carefully and slowly, with trembling fingers, Deacon counted the cards +he had taken. There were twenty-five. He reached over to the corner of +the table, took up the rules Grief had written, folded them, and put +them in his pocket. Then he emptied his glass, and stood up. Captain +Donovan looked at his watch, yawned, and also arose. + +“Going aboard, Captain?” Deacon asked. + +“Yes,” was the answer. “What time shall I send the whaleboat for you?” + +“I'll go with you now. We'll pick up my luggage from the _Billy_ as we +go by, I was sailing on her for Babo in the morning.” + +Deacon shook hands all around, after receiving a final pledge of good +luck on Karo-Karo. + +“Does Tom Butler play cards?” he asked Grief. + +“Solitaire,” was the answer. + +“Then I'll teach him double solitaire.” Deacon turned toward the door, +where Captain Donovan waited, and added with a sigh, “And I fancy he'll +skin me, too, if he plays like the rest of you island men.” + + + + + +Chapter Seven--THE FEATHERS OF THE SUN + + + + +I + +It was the island of Fitu-Iva--the last independent Polynesian +stronghold in the South Seas. Three factors conduced to Fitu-Iva's +independence. The first and second were its isolation and the +warlikeness of its population. But these would not have saved it in +the end had it not been for the fact that Japan, France, Great +Britain, Germany, and the United States discovered its desirableness +simultaneously. It was like gamins scrambling for a penny. They got +in one another's way. The war vessels of the five Powers cluttered +Fitu-Iva's one small harbour. There were rumours of war and threats of +war. Over its morning toast all the world read columns about Fitu-Iva. +As a Yankee blue jacket epitomized it at the time, they all got their +feet in the trough at once. + +So it was that Fitu-Iva escaped even a joint protectorate, and King +Tulifau, otherwise Tui Tulifau, continued to dispense the high justice +and the low in the frame-house palace built for him by a Sydney trader +out of California redwood. Not only was Tui Tulifau every inch a king, +but he was every second a king. When he had ruled fifty-eight years and +five months, he was only fifty-eight years and three months old. That +is to say, he had ruled over five million seconds more than he had +breathed, having been crowned two months before he was born. + +He was a kingly king, a royal figure of a man, standing six feet and +a half, and, without being excessively fat, weighing three hundred and +twenty pounds. But this was not unusual for Polynesian “chief stock.” + Sepeli, his queen, was six feet three inches and weighed two hundred +and sixty, while her brother, Uiliami, who commanded the army in the +intervals of resignation from the premiership, topped her by an inch and +notched her an even half-hundredweight. Tui Tulifau was a merry soul, a +great feaster and drinker. So were all his people merry souls, save in +anger, when, on occasion, they could be guilty even of throwing dead +pigs at those who made them wroth. Nevertheless, on occasion, they could +fight like Maoris, as piratical sandalwood traders and Blackbirders in +the old days learned to their cost. + + + + +II + +Grief's schooner, the _Cantani_, had passed the Pillar Rocks at the +entrance two hours before and crept up the harbour to the whispering +flutters of a breeze that could not make up its mind to blow. It was +a cool, starlight evening, and they lolled about the poop waiting till +their snail's pace would bring them to the anchorage. Willie Smee, the +supercargo, emerged from the cabin, conspicuous in his shore clothes. +The mate glanced at his shirt, of the finest and whitest silk, and +giggled significantly. + +“Dance, to-night, I suppose?” Grief observed. + +“No,” said the mate. “It's Taitua. Willie's stuck on her.” + +“Catch me,” the supercargo disclaimed. + +“Then she's stuck on you, and it's all the same,” the mate went on. “You +won't be ashore half an hour before you'll have a flower behind your +ear, a wreath on your head, and your arm around Taitua.” + +“Simple jealousy,” Willie Smee sniffed. “You'd like to have her +yourself, only you can't.” + +“I can't find shirts like that, that's why. I'll bet you half a crown +you won't sail from Fitu-Iva with that shirt.” + +“And if Taitua doesn't get it, it's an even break Tui Tulifau does,” + Grief warned. “Better not let him spot that shirt, or it's all day with +it.” + +“That's right,” Captain Boig agreed, turning his head from watching the +house lights on the shore. “Last voyage he fined one of my Kanakas out +of a fancy belt and sheath-knife.” He turned to the mate. “You can let +go any time, Mr. Marsh. Don't give too much slack. There's no sign of +wind, and in the morning we may shift opposite the copra-sheds.” + +A minute later the anchor rumbled down. The whaleboat, already hoisted +out, lay alongside, and the shore-going party dropped into it. Save for +the Kanakas, who were all bent for shore, only Grief and the supercargo +were in the boat. At the head of the little coral-stone pier Willie +Smee, with an apologetic gurgle, separated from his employer and +disappeared down an avenue of palms. Grief turned in the opposite +direction past the front of the old mission church. Here, among +the graves on the beach, lightly clad in _ahu's_ and _lava-lavas_, +flower-crowned and garlanded, with great phosphorescent hibiscus +blossoms in their hair, youths and maidens were dancing. Farther on, +Grief passed the long, grass-built _himine_ house, where a few score +of the elders sat in long rows chanting the old hymns taught them by +forgotten missionaries. He passed also the palace of Tui Tulifau, where, +by the lights and sounds, he knew the customary revelry was going +on. For of the happy South Sea isles, Fitu-Iva was the happiest. They +feasted and frolicked at births and deaths, and the dead and the unborn +were likewise feasted. + +Grief held steadily along the Broom Road, which curved and twisted +through a lush growth of flowers and fern-like algarobas. The warm air +was rich with perfume, and overhead, outlined against the stars, were +fruit-burdened mangoes, stately avocado trees, and slender-tufted palms. +Every here and there were grass houses. Voices and laughter rippled +through the darkness. Out on the water flickering lights and soft-voiced +choruses marked the fishers returning from the reef. + +At last Grief stepped aside from the road, stumbling over a pig that +grunted indignantly. Looking through an open door, he saw a stout and +elderly native sitting on a heap of mats a dozen deep. From time to +time, automatically, he brushed his naked legs with a cocoa-nut-fibre +fly-flicker. He wore glasses, and was reading methodically in what Grief +knew to be an English Bible. For this was Ieremia, his trader, so named +from the prophet Jeremiah. + +Ieremia was lighter-skinned than the Fitu-Ivans, as was natural in a +full-blooded Samoan. Educated by the missionaries, as lay teacher he had +served their cause well over in the cannibal atolls to the westward. As +a reward, he had been sent to the paradise of Fitu-Iva, where all were +or had been good converts, to gather in the backsliders. Unfortunately, +Ieremia had become too well educated. A stray volume of Darwin, a +nagging wife, and a pretty Fitu-Ivan widow had driven him into the ranks +of the backsliders. It was not a case of apostasy. The effect of Darwin +had been one of intellectual fatigue. What was the use of trying to +understand this vastly complicated and enigmatical world, especially +when one was married to a nagging woman? As Ieremia slackened in his +labours, the mission board threatened louder and louder to send him back +to the atolls, while his wife's tongue grew correspondingly sharper. Tui +Tulifau was a sympathetic monarch, whose queen, on occasions when he was +particularly drunk, was known to beat him. For political reasons--the +queen belonging to as royal stock as himself and her brother commanding +the army--Tui Tulifau could not divorce her, but he could and did +divorce Ieremia, who promptly took up with commercial life and the lady +of his choice. As an independent trader he had failed, chiefly because +of the disastrous patronage of Tui Tulifau. To refuse credit to that +merry monarch was to invite confiscation; to grant him credit was +certain bankruptcy. After a year's idleness on the beach, leremia had +become David Grief's trader, and for a dozen years his service had +been honourable and efficient, for Grief had proven the first man who +successfully refused credit to the king or who collected when it had +been accorded. + +Ieremia looked gravely over the rims of his glasses when his employer +entered, gravely marked the place in the Bible and set it aside, and +gravely shook hands. + +“I am glad you came in person,” he said. + +“How else could I come?” Grief laughed. + +But Ieremia had no sense of humour, and he ignored the remark. + +“The commercial situation on the island is damn bad,” he said with great +solemnity and an unctuous mouthing of the many-syllabled words. “My +ledger account is shocking.” + +“Trade bad?” + +“On the contrary. It has been excellent. The shelves are empty, +exceedingly empty. But----” His eyes glistened proudly. “But there are +many goods remaining in the storehouse; I have kept it carefully +locked.” + +“Been allowing Tui Tulifau too much credit?” + +“On the contrary. There has been no credit at all. And every old account +has been settled up.” + +“I don't follow you, Ieremia,” Grief confessed. “What's the +joke?--shelves empty, no credit, old accounts all square, storehouse +carefully locked--what's the answer?” + +Ieremia did not reply immediately. Reaching under the rear corner of the +mats, he drew forth a large cash-box. Grief noted and wondered that +it was not locked. The Samoan had always been fastidiously cautious in +guarding cash. The box seemed filled with paper money. He skinned off +the top note and passed it over. + +“There is the answer.” + +Grief glanced at a fairly well executed banknote. “_The First Royal Bank +of Fitu-Iva will pay to bearer on demand one pound sterling_,” he read. +In the centre was the smudged likeness of a native face. At the bottom +was the signature of Tui Tulifau, and the signature of Fulualea, with +the printed information appended, “_Chancellor of the Exchequer._” + +“Who the deuce is Fulualea?” Grief demanded. “It's Fijian, isn't +it?--meaning the feathers of the sun?” + +“Just so. It means the feathers of the sun. Thus does this base +interloper caption himself. He has come up from Fiji to turn Fitu-Iva +upside down--that is, commercially.” + +“Some one of those smart Levuka boys, I suppose?” + +Ieremia shook his head sadly. “No, this low fellow is a white man and +a scoundrel. He has taken a noble and high-sounding Fijian name and +dragged it in the dirt to suit his nefarious purposes. He has made Tui +Tulifau drunk. He has made him very drunk. He has kept him very drunk +all the time. In return, he has been made Chancellor of the Exchequer +and other things. He has issued this false paper and compelled the +people to receive it. He has levied a store tax, a copra tax, and a +tobacco tax. There are harbour dues and regulations, and other taxes. +But the people are not taxed--only the traders. When the copra tax was +levied, I lowered the purchasing price accordingly. Then the people +began to grumble, and Feathers of the Sun passed a new law, setting +the old price back and forbidding any man to lower it. Me he fined two +pounds and five pigs, it being well known that I possessed five pigs. +You will find them entered in the ledger. Hawkins, who is trader for +the Fulcrum Company, was fined first pigs, then gin, and, because he +continued to make loud conversation, the army came and burned his store. +When I declined to sell, this Feathers of the Sun fined me once more and +promised to burn the store if again I offended. So I sold all that was +on the shelves, and there is the box full of worthless paper. I shall +be chagrined if you pay me my salary in paper, but it would be just, no +more than just. Now, what is to be done?” + +Grief shrugged his shoulders. “I must first see this Feathers of the Sun +and size up the situation.” + +“Then you must see him soon,” Ieremia advised. “Else he will have an +accumulation of many fines against you. Thus does he absorb all the +coin of the realm. He has it all now, save what has been buried in the +ground.” + + + + +III + +On his way back along the Broom Road, under the lighted lamps that +marked the entrance to the palace grounds, Grief encountered a short, +rotund gentleman, in unstarched ducks, smooth-shaven and of florid +complexion, who was just emerging. Something about his tentative, +saturated gait was familiar. Grief knew it on the instant. On the +beaches of a dozen South Sea ports had he seen it before. + +“Of all men, Cornelius Deasy!” he cried. + +“If it ain't Grief himself, the old devil,” was the return greeting, as +they shook hands. + +“If you'll come on board I've some choice smoky Irish,” Grief invited. + +Cornelius threw back his shoulders and stiffened. + +“Nothing doin', Mr. Grief. 'Tis Fulualea I am now. No blarneyin' of +old times for me. Also, and by the leave of his gracious Majesty King +Tulifau, 'tis Chancellor of the Exchequer I am, an' Chief Justice I am, +save in moments of royal sport when the king himself chooses to toy with +the wheels of justice.” + +Grief whistled his amazement. “So you're Feathers of the Sun!” + +“I prefer the native idiom,” was the correction. “Fulualea, an' it +please you. Not forgettin' old times, Mr. Grief, it sorrows the heart +of me to break you the news. You'll have to pay your legitimate import +duties same as any other trader with mind intent on robbin' the gentle +Polynesian savage on coral isles implanted. ----Where was I? Ah! I +remember. You've violated the regulations. With malice intent have you +entered the port of Fitu-Iva after sunset without sidelights burnin'. +Don't interrupt. With my own eyes did I see you. For which offence are +you fined the sum of five pounds. Have you any gin? 'Tis a serious +offence. Not lightly are the lives of the mariners of our commodious +port to be risked for the savin' of a penny'orth of oil. Did I ask: have +you any gin? Tis the harbour master that asks.” + +“You've taken a lot on your shoulders,” Grief grinned. + +“'Tis the white man's burden. These rapscallion traders have been +puttin' it all over poor Tui Tulif, the best-hearted old monarch +that ever sat a South Sea throne an' mopped grog-root from the imperial +calabash. 'Tis I, Cornelius--Fulualea, rather--that am here to see +justice done. Much as I dislike the doin' of it, as harbour master 'tis +my duty to find you guilty of breach of quarantine.” + +“Quarantine?” + +“'Tis the rulin' of the port doctor. No intercourse with the shore till +the ship is passed. What dire calamity to the confidin' native if +chicken pox or whoopin' cough was aboard of you! Who is there to protect +the gentle, confidin' Polynesian? I, Fulualea, the Feathers of the Sun, +on my high mission.” + +“Who in hell is the port doctor?” Grief queried. + +“'Tis me, Fulualea. Your offence is serious. Consider yourself fined +five cases of first-quality Holland gin.” + +Grief laughed heartily. “We'll compromise, Cornelius. Come aboard and +have a drink.” + +The Feathers of the Sun waved the proffer aside grandly. “'Tis bribery. +I'll have none of it--me faithful to my salt. And wherefore did you not +present your ship's papers? As chief of the custom house you are fined +five pounds and two more cases of gin.” + +“Look here, Cornelius. A joke's a joke, but this one has gone far +enough. This is not Levuka. I've half a mind to pull your nose for you. +You can't buck me.” + +The Feathers of the Sun retreated unsteadily and in alarm. + +“Lay no violence on me,” he threatened. “You're right. This is not +Levuka. And by the same token, with Tui Tulifau and the royal army +behind me, buck you is just the thing I can and will. You'll pay them +fines promptly, or I'll confiscate your vessel. You're not the first. +What does that Chink pearl-buyer, Peter Gee, do but slip into harbour, +violatin' all regulations an' makin' rough house for the matter of a +few paltry fines. No; he wouldn't pay 'em, and he's on the beach now +thinkin' it over.” + +“You don't mean to say----” + +“Sure an' I do. In the high exercise of office I seized his schooner. A +fifth of the loyal army is now in charge on board of her. She'll be sold +this day week. Some ten tons of shell in the hold, and I'm wonderin' +if I can trade it to you for gin. I can promise you a rare bargain. How +much gin did you say you had?” + +“Still more gin, eh?” + +“An' why not? 'Tis a royal souse is Tui Tulifau. Sure it keeps my wits +workin' overtime to supply him, he's that amazin' liberal with it. The +whole gang of hanger-on chiefs is perpetually loaded to the guards. It's +disgraceful. Are you goin' to pay them fines, Mr. Grief, or is it to +harsher measures I'll be forced?” + +Grief turned impatiently on his heel. + +“Cornelius, you're drunk. Think it over and come to your senses. The +old rollicking South Sea days are gone. You can't play tricks like that +now.” + +“If you think you're goin' on board, Mr. Grief, I'll save you the +trouble. I know your kind, I foresaw your stiff-necked stubbornness. An' +it's forestalled you are. 'Tis on the beach you'll find your crew. The +vessel's seized.” + +Grief turned back on him in the half-belief still that he was joking. +Fulualea again retreated in alarm. The form of a large man loomed beside +him in the darkness. + +“Is it you, Uiliami?” Fulualea crooned. “Here is another sea pirate. +Stand by me with the strength of thy arm, O Herculean brother.” + +“Greeting, Uiliami,” Grief said. “Since when has Fitu-Iva come to be +run by a Levuka beachcomber? He says my schooner has been seized. Is it +true?” + +“It is true,” Uiliami boomed from his deep chest. “Have you any more +silk shirts like Willie Smee's? Tui Tulifau would like such a shirt. He +has heard of it.” + +“'Tis all the same,” Fulualea interrupted. “Shirts or schooners, the +king shall have them.” + +“Rather high-handed, Cornelius,” Grief murmured. “It's rank piracy. You +seized my vessel without giving me a chance.” + +“A chance is it? As we stood here, not five minutes gone, didn't you +refuse to pay your fines?” + +“But she was already seized.” + +“Sure, an' why not? Didn't I know you'd refuse? 'Tis all fair, an' no +injustice done--Justice, the bright, particular star at whose shining +altar Cornelius Deasy--or Fulualea, 'tis the same thing--ever worships. +Get thee gone, Mr. Trader, or I'll set the palace guards on you. +Uiliami, 'tis a desperate character, this trader man. Call the guards.” + +Uiliami blew the whistle suspended on his broad bare chest by a cord +of cocoanut sennit. Grief reached out an angry hand for Cornelius, who +titubated into safety behind Uiliami's massive bulk. A dozen strapping +Polynesians, not one under six feet, ran down the palace walk and ranged +behind their commander. + +“Get thee gone, Mr. Trader,” Cornelius ordered. “The interview is +terminated. We'll try your several cases in the mornin'. Appear promptly +at the palace at ten o'clock to answer to the followin' charges, to +wit: breach of the peace; seditious and treasonable utterance; violent +assault on the chief magistrate with intent to cut, wound, maim, an' +bruise; breach of quarantine; violation of harbour regulations; and +gross breakage of custom house rules. In the mornin', fellow, in the +mornin', justice shall be done while the breadfruit falls. And the Lord +have mercy on your soul.” + + + + +III + +Before the hour set for the trial Grief, accompanied by Peter Gee, won +access to Tui Tulifau. The king, surrounded by half a dozen chiefs, lay +on mats under the shade of the avocados in the palace compound. Early +as was the hour, palace maids were industriously serving squarefaces of +gin. The king was glad to see his old friend Davida, and regretful +that he had run foul of the new regulations. Beyond that he steadfastly +avoided discussion of the matter in hand. All protests of the +expropriated traders were washed away in proffers of gin. “Have a +drink,” was his invariable reply, though once he unbosomed himself +enough to say that Feathers of the Sun was a wonderful man. Never had +palace affairs been so prosperous. Never had there been so much money +in the treasury, nor so much gin in circulation. “Well pleased am I with +Fulualea,” he concluded. “Have a drink.” + +“We've got to get out of this _pronto_,” Grief whispered to Peter Gee a +few minutes later, “or we'll be a pair of boiled owls. Also, I am to be +tried for arson, or heresy, or leprosy, or something, in a few minutes, +and I must control my wits.” + +As they withdrew from the royal presence, Grief caught a glimpse of +Sepeli, the queen. She was peering out at her royal spouse and his +fellow tipplers, and the frown on her face gave Grief his cue. Whatever +was to be accomplished must be through her. + +In another shady corner of the big compound Cornelius was holding court. +He had been at it early, for when Grief arrived the case of Willie Smee +was being settled. The entire royal army, save that portion in charge of +the seized vessels, was in attendance. + +“Let the defendant stand up,” said Cornelius, “and receive the just and +merciful sentence of the Court for licentious and disgraceful conduct +unbecomin' a supercargo. The defendant says he has no money. Very well. +The Court regrets it has no calaboose. In lieu thereof, and in view +of the impoverished condition of the defendant, the Court fines said +defendant one white silk shirt of the same kind, make and quality at +present worn by defendant.” + +Cornelius nodded to several of the soldiers, who led the supercargo away +behind an avocado tree. A minute later he emerged, minus the garment in +question, and sat down beside Grief. + +“What have you been up to?” Grief asked. + +“Blessed if I know. What crimes have you committed?” + +“Next case,” said Cornelius in his most extra-legal tones. “David Grief, +defendant, stand up. The Court has considered the evidence in the case, +or cases, and renders the following judgment, to wit:--Shut up!” he +thundered at Grief, who had attempted to interrupt. “I tell you the +evidence has been considered, deeply considered. It is no wish of the +Court to lay additional hardship on the defendant, and the Court takes +this opportunity to warn the defendant that he is liable for contempt. +For open and wanton violation of harbour rules and regulations, breach +of quarantine, and disregard of shipping laws, his schooner, the +_Cantani_, is hereby declared confiscated to the Government of +Fitu-Iva, to be sold at public auction, ten days from date, with +all appurtenances, fittings, and cargo thereunto pertaining. For the +personal crimes of the defendant, consisting of violent and turbulent +conduct and notorious disregard of the laws of the realm, he is fined in +the sum of one hundred pounds sterling and fifteen cases of gin. I will +not ask you if you have anything to say. But will you pay? That is the +question.” + +Grief shook his head. + +“In the meantime,” Cornelius went on, “consider yourself a prisoner at +large. There is no calaboose in which to confine you. And finally, it +has come to the knowledge of the Court, that at an early hour of this +morning, the defendant did wilfully and deliberately send Kanakas in his +employ out on the reef to catch fish for breakfast. This is distinctly +an infringement of the rights of the fisherfolk of Fitu-Iva. Home +industries must be protected. This conduct of the defendant is severely +reprehended by the Court, and on any repetition of the offence the +offender and offenders, all and sundry, shall be immediately put to hard +labour on the improvement of the Broom Road. The court is dismissed.” + +As they left the compound, Peter Gee nudged Grief to look where Tui +Tulifau reclined on the mats. The supercargo's shirt, stretched and +bulged, already encased the royal fat. + + + + +IV + +“The thing is clear,” said Peter Gee, at a conference in Ieremia's +house. “Deasy has about gathered in all the coin. In the meantime he +keeps the king going on the gin he's captured, on our vessels. As soon +as he can maneuver it he'll take the cash and skin out on your craft or +mine.” + +“He is a low fellow,” Ieremia declared, pausing in the polishing of his +spectacles. “He is a scoundrel and a blackguard. He should be struck by +a dead pig, by a particularly dead pig.” + +“The very thing,” said Grief. “He shall be struck by a dead pig. +Ieremia, I should not be surprised if you were the man to strike him +with the dead pig. Be sure and select a particularly dead one. Tui +Tulifau is down at the boat house broaching a case of my Scotch. I'm +going up to the palace to work kitchen politics with the queen. In the +meantime you get a few things on your shelves from the store-room. I'll +lend you some, Hawkins. And you, Peter, see the German store. Start in +all of you, selling for paper. Remember, I'll back the losses. If +I'm not mistaken, in three days we'll have a national council or a +revolution. You, Ieremia, start messengers around the island to the +fishers and farmers, everywhere, even to the mountain goat-hunters. Tell +them to assemble at the palace three days from now.” + +“But the soldiers,” Ieremia objected. + +“I'll take care of them. They haven't been paid for two months. Besides, +Uiliami is the queen's brother. Don't have too much on your shelves at a +time. As soon as the soldiers show up with paper, stop selling.” + +“Then will they burn the stores,” said Ieremia. + +“Let them. King Tulifau will pay for it if they do.” + +“Will he pay for my shirt?” Willie Smee demanded. + +“That is purely a personal and private matter between you and Tui +Tulifau,” Grief answered. + +“It's beginning to split up the back,” the supercargo lamented. “I +noticed that much this morning when he hadn't had it on ten minutes. It +cost me thirty shillings and I only wore it once.” + +“Where shall I get a dead pig?” Ieremia asked. + +“Kill one, of course,” said Grief. “Kill a small one.” + +“A small one is worth ten shillings.” + +“Then enter it in your ledger under operating expenses.” Grief paused a +moment. “If you want it particularly dead, it would be well to kill it +at once.” + + + + +V + +“You have spoken well, Davida,” said Queen Sepeli. “This Fulualea has +brought a madness with him, and Tui Tulifau is drowned in gin. If he +does not grant the big council, I shall give him a beating. He is easy +to beat when he is in drink.” + +She doubled up her fist, and such were her Amazonian proportions and the +determination in her face that Grief knew the council would be called. +So akin was the Fitu-Ivan tongue to the Samoan that he spoke it like a +native. + +“And you, Uiliami,” he said, “have pointed out that the soldiers have +demanded coin and refused the paper Fulualea has offered them. Tell them +to take the paper and see that they be paid to-morrow.” + +“Why trouble?” Uiliami objected. “The king remains happily drunk. There +is much money in the treasury. And I am content. In my house are two +cases of gin and much goods from Hawkins's store.” + +“Excellent pig, O my brother!” Sepeli erupted. “Has not Davida spoken? +Have you no ears? When the gin and the goods in your house are gone, and +no more traders come with gin and goods, and Feathers of the Sun has run +away to Levuka with all the cash money of Fitu-Iva, what then will you +do? Cash money is silver and gold, but paper is only paper. I tell you +the people are grumbling. There is no fish in the palace. Yams and +sweet potatoes seem to have fled from the soil, for they come not. The +mountain dwellers have sent no wild goat in a week. Though Feathers of +the Sun compels the traders to buy copra at the old price, the people +sell not, for they will have none of the paper money. Only to-day have I +sent messengers to twenty houses. There are no eggs. Has Feathers of the +Sun put a blight upon the hens? I do not know. All I know is that there +are no eggs. Well it is that those who drink much eat little, else would +there be a palace famine. Tell your soldiers to receive their pay. Let +it be in his paper money.” + +“And remember,” Grief warned, “though there be selling in the stores, +when the soldiers come with their paper it will be refused. And in three +days will be the council, and Feathers of the Sun will be as dead as a +dead pig.” + + + + +VI + +The day of the council found the population of the island crowded into +the capital. By canoe and whaleboat, on foot and donkey-back, the five +thousand inhabitants of Fitu-Iva had trooped in. The three intervening +days had had their share of excitement. At first there had been much +selling from the sparse shelves of the traders. But when the soldiers +appeared, their patronage was declined and they were told to go to +Fulualea for coin. “Says it not so on the face of the paper,” the +traders demanded, “that for the asking the coin will be given in +exchange?” + +Only the strong authority of Uiliami had prevented the burning of the +traders' houses. As it was, one of Grief's copra-sheds went up in smoke +and was duly charged by Ieremia to the king's account. Ieremia himself +had been abused and mocked, and his spectacles broken. The skin was +off Willie Smee's knuckles. This had been caused by three boisterous +soldiers who violently struck their jaws thereon in quick succession. +Captain Boig was similarly injured. Peter Gee had come off undamaged, +because it chanced that it was bread-baskets and not jaws that struck +him on the fists. + +Tui Tulifau, with Sepeli at his side and surrounded by his convivial +chiefs, sat at the head of the council in the big compound. His +right eye and jaw were swollen as if he too had engaged in assaulting +somebody's fist. It was palace gossip that morning that Sepeli had +administered a conjugal beating. At any rate, her spouse was sober, +and his fat bulged spiritlessly through the rips in Willie Smee's silk +shirt. His thirst was prodigious, and he was continually served with +young drinking nuts. Outside the compound, held back by the army, was +the mass of the common people. Only the lesser chiefs, village maids, +village beaux, and talking men with their staffs of office were +permitted inside. Cornelius Deasy, as befitted a high and favoured +official, sat near to the right hand of the king. On the left of the +queen, opposite Cornelius and surrounded by the white traders he was +to represent, sat Ieremia. Bereft of his spectacles, he peered +short-sightedly across at the Chancellor of the Exchequer. + +In turn, the talking man of the windward coast, the talking man of the +leeward coast, and the talking man of the mountain villages, each backed +by his group of lesser talking men and chiefs, arose and made oration. +What they said was much the same. They grumbled about the paper money. +Affairs were not prosperous. No more copra was being smoked. The people +were suspicious. To such a pass had things come that all people wanted +to pay their debts and no one wanted to be paid. Creditors made a +practice of running away from debtors. The money was cheap. Prices were +going up and commodities were getting scarce. It cost three times the +ordinary price to buy a fowl, and then it was tough and like to die +of old age if not immediately sold. The outlook was gloomy. There were +signs and omens. There was a plague of rats in some districts. The crops +were bad. The custard apples were small. The best-bearing avocado on the +windward coast had mysteriously shed all its leaves. The taste had +gone from the mangoes. The plantains were eaten by a worm. The fish had +forsaken the ocean and vast numbers of tiger-sharks appeared. The wild +goats had fled to inaccessible summits. The poi in the poi-pits had +turned bitter. There were rumblings in the mountains, night-walking +of spirits; a woman of Punta-Puna had been struck speechless, and a +five-legged she-goat had been born in the village of Eiho. And that all +was due to the strange money of Fulualea was the firm conviction of the +elders in the village councils assembled. + +Uiliami spoke for the army. His men were discontented and mutinous. +Though by royal decree the traders were bidden accept the money, yet did +they refuse it. He would not say, but it looked as if the strange money +of Fulualea had something to do with it. + +Ieremia, as talking man of the traders, next spoke. When he arose, it +was noticeable that he stood with legs spraddled over a large grass +basket. He dwelt upon the cloth of the traders, its variety and beauty +and durability, which so exceeded the Fitu-Ivan wet-pounded tapa, +fragile and coarse. No one wore tapa any more. Yet all had worn +tapa, and nothing but tapa, before the traders came. There was the +mosquito-netting, sold for a song, that the cleverest Fitu-Ivan +net-weaver could not duplicate in a thousand years. He enlarged on the +incomparable virtues of rifles, axes, and steel fishhooks, down through +needles, thread and cotton fish-lines to white flour and kerosene oil. + +He expounded at length, with firstlies and secondlies and all minor +subdivisions of argument, on organization, and order, and civilization. +He contended that the trader was the bearer of civilization, and that +the trader must be protected in his trade else he would not come. Over +to the westward were islands which would not protect the traders. What +was the result? The traders would not come, and the people were like +wild animals. They wore no clothes, no silk shirts (here he peered and +blinked significantly at the king), and they ate one another. + +The queer paper of the Feathers of the Sun was not money. The traders +knew what money was, and they would not receive it. If Fitu-Iva +persisted in trying to make them receive it they would go away and never +come back. And then the Fitu-Ivans, who had forgotten how to make tapa, +would run around naked and eat one another. + +Much more he said, talking a solid hour, and always coming back to what +their dire condition would be when the traders came no more. “And in +that day,” he perorated, “how will the Fitu-Ivan be known in the great +world? _Kai-kanak_* will men call him. '_Kiakanak! Kai-kanak!_” + + * Man-eater. + +Tui Tulifau spoke briefly. The case had been presented, he said, for the +people, the army, and the traders. It was now time for Feathers of the +Sun to present his side. It could not be denied that he had wrought +wonders with his financial system. “Many times has he explained to me +the working of his system,” Tui Tulif au concluded. “It is very simple. +And now he will explain it to you.” + +It was a conspiracy of the white traders, Cornelius contended. Ieremia +was right so far as concerned the manifold blessings of white flour +and kerosene oil. Fitu-Iva did not want to become _kai-kanak_. Fitu-Iva +wanted civilization; it wanted more and more civilization. Now that was +the very point, and they must follow him closely. Paper money was an +earmark of higher civilization. That was why he, the Feathers of the +Sun, had introduced it. And that was why the traders opposed it. They +did not want to see Fitu-Iva civilized. Why did they come across the far +ocean stretches with their goods to Fitu-Iva? He, the Feathers of the +Sun, would tell them why, to their faces, in grand council assembled. In +their own countries men were too civilized to let the traders make the +immense profits that they made out of the Fitu-Ivans. If the Fitu-Ivans +became properly civilized, the trade of the traders would be gone. In +that day every Fitu-Ivan could become a trader if he pleased. + +That was why the white traders fought the system of paper money, that +he, the Feathers of the Sun, had brought. Why was he called the Feathers +of the Sun? Because he was the Light-Bringer from the World Beyond the +Sky. The paper money was the light. The robbing white traders could not +flourish in the light. Therefore they fought the light. + +He would prove it to the good people of Fitu-Iva, and he would prove +it out of the mouths of his enemies. It was a well-known fact that all +highly civilized countries had paper-money systems. He would ask Ieremia +if this was not so. + +Ieremia did not answer. + +“You see,” Cornelius went on, “he makes no answer. He cannot deny what +is true. England, France, Germany, America, all the great _Papalangi_ +countries, have the paper-money system. It works. From century to +century it works. I challenge you, Ieremia, as an honest man, as one +who was once a zealous worker in the Lord's vineyard, I challenge you to +deny that in the great _Papalangi_ countries the system works.” + +Ieremia could not deny, and his fingers played nervously with the +fastening of the basket on his knees. + +“You see, it is as I have said,” Cornelius continued. “Ieremia agrees +that it is so. Therefore, I ask you, all good people of Fitu-Iva, if +a system is good for the _Papalangi_ countries, why is it not good for +Fitu-Iva?” + +“It is not the same!” Ieremia cried. “The paper of the Feathers of the +Sun is different from the paper of the great countries.” + +That Cornelius had been prepared for this was evident. He held up a +Fitu-Ivan note that was recognized by all. + +“What is that?” he demanded. + +“Paper, mere paper,” was Ieremia's reply. + +“And that?” + +This time Cornelius held up a Bank of England note. + +“It is the paper money of the English,” he explained to the Council, +at the same time extending it for Ieremia to examine. “Is it not true, +Ieremia, that it is paper money of the English?” + +Ieremia nodded reluctantly. + +“You have said that the paper money of Fitu-Iva was paper, now how about +this of the English? What is it?.... You must answer like a true man... +All wait for your answer, Ieremia.” + +“It is--it is----” the puzzled Ieremia began, then spluttered +helplessly, the fallacy beyond his penetration. + +“Paper, mere paper,” Cornelius concluded for him, imitating his halting +utterance. + +Conviction sat on the faces of all. The king clapped his hands +admiringly and murmured, “It is most clear, very clear.” + +“You see, he himself acknowledges it.” Assured triumph was in Deasy's +voice and bearing. “He knows of no difference. There is no difference. +'Tis the very image of money. 'Tis money itself.” + +In the meantime Grief was whispering in Ieremia's ear, who nodded and +began to speak. + +“But it is well known to all the _Papalangi_ that the English Government +will pay coin money for the paper.” + +Deasy's victory was now absolute. He held aloft a Fitu-Ivan note. + +“Is it not so written on this paper as well?” + +Again Grief whispered. + +“That Fitu-Iva will pay coin money?” asked Ieremia + +“It is so written.” + +A third time Grief prompted. + +“On demand?” asked Ieremia. + +“On demand,” Cornelius assured him. + +“Then I demand coin money now,” said Ieremia, drawing a small package of +notes from the pouch at his girdle. + +Cornelius scanned the package with a quick, estimating eye. + +“Very well,” he agreed. “I shall give you the coin money now. How much?” + +“And we will see the system work,” the king proclaimed, partaking in his +Chancellor's triumph. + +“You have heard!--He will give coin money now!” Ieremia cried in a loud +voice to the assemblage. + +At the same time he plunged both hands in the basket and drew forth many +packages of Fitu-Ivan notes. It was noticed that a peculiar odour was +adrift about the council. + +“I have here,” Ieremia announced, “one thousand and twenty-eight pounds +twelve shillings and sixpence. Here is a sack to put the coin money in.” + +Cornelius recoiled. He had not expected such a sum, and everywhere about +the council his uneasy eyes showed him chiefs and talking men drawing +out bundles of notes. The army, its two months' pay in its hands, +pressed forward to the edge of the council, while behind it the +populace, with more money, invaded the compound. + +“'Tis a run on the bank you've precipitated,” he said reproachfully to +Grief. + +“Here is the sack to put the coin money in,” Ieremia urged. + +“It must be postponed,” Cornelius said desperately, “'Tis not in banking +hours.” + +Ieremia flourished a package of money. “Nothing of banking hours is +written here. It says on demand, and I now demand.” + +“Let them come to-morrow, O Tui Tulifau,” Cornelius appealed to the +king. “They shall be paid to-morrow.” + +Tui Tulifau hesitated, but his spouse glared at him, her brawny arm +tensing as the fist doubled into a redoubtable knot, Tui Tulifau tried +to look away, but failed. He cleared his throat nervously. + +“We will see the system work,” he decreed. “The people have come far.” + +“'Tis good money you're asking me to pay out,” Deasy muttered in a low +voice to the king. + +Sepeli caught what he said, and grunted so savagely as to startle the +king, who involuntarily shrank away from her. + +“Forget not the pig,” Grief whispered to Ieremia, who immediately stood +up. + +With a sweeping gesture he stilled the babel of voices that was +beginning to rise. + +“It was an ancient and honourable custom of Fitu-Iva,” he said, “that +when a man was proved a notorious evildoer his joints were broken with +a club and he was staked out at low water to be fed upon alive by the +sharks. Unfortunately, that day is past. Nevertheless another ancient +and honourable custom remains with us. You all know what it is. When a +man is a proven thief and liar he shall be struck with a dead pig.” + +His right hand went into the basket, and, despite the lack of his +spectacles, the dead pig that came into view landed accurately on +Deasy's neck. With such force was it thrown that the Chancellor, in +his sitting position, toppled over sidewise. Before he could recover, +Sepeli, with an agility unexpected of a woman who weighed two hundred +and sixty pounds, had sprung across to him. One hand clutched his shirt +collar, the other hand brandished the pig, and amid the vast uproar of a +delighted kingdom she royally swatted him. + +There remained nothing for Tui Tulifau but to put a good face on his +favourite's disgrace, and his mountainous fat lay back on the mats and +shook in a gale of Gargantuan laughter. + +When Sepeli dropped both pig and Chancellor, a talking man from the +windward coast picked up the carcass. Cornelius was on his feet and +running, when the pig caught him on the legs and tripped him. The people +and the army, with shouts and laughter, joined in the sport. + +Twist and dodge as he would, everywhere the ex-Chancellor of the +Exchequer was met or overtaken by the flying pig. He scuttled like a +frightened rabbit in and out among the avocados and the palms. No hand +was laid upon him, and his tormentors made way before him, but ever they +pursued, and ever the pig flew as fast as hands could pick it up. + +As the chase died away down the Broom Road, Grief led the traders to the +royal treasury, and the day was well over ere the last Fitu-Ivan bank +note had been redeemed with coin. + + + + +VII + +Through the mellow cool of twilight a man paddled out from a clump of +jungle to the _Cantani_. It was a leaky and abandoned dugout, and he +paddled slowly, desisting from time to time in order to bale. The +Kanaka sailors giggled gleefully as he came alongside and painfully +drew himself over the rail. He was bedraggled and filthy, and seemed +half-dazed. + +“Could I speak a word with you, Mr. Grief?” he asked sadly and humbly. + +“Sit to leeward and farther away,” Grief answered. “A little farther +away. That's better.” + +Cornelius sat down on the rail and held his head in both his hands. + +“'Tis right,” he said. “I'm as fragrant as a recent battlefield. My head +aches to burstin'. My neck is fair broken. The teeth are loose in my +jaws. There's nests of hornets buzzin' in my ears. My medulla oblongata +is dislocated. I've been through earthquake and pestilence, and the +heavens have rained pigs.” He paused with a sigh that ended in a groan. +“'Tis a vision of terrible death. One that the poets never dreamed. To +be eaten by rats, or boiled in oil, or pulled apart by wild horses--that +would be unpleasant. But to be beaten to death with a dead pig!” + He shuddered at the awfulness of it. “Sure it transcends the human +imagination.” + +Captain Boig sniffed audibly, moved his canvas chair farther to +windward, and sat down again. + +“I hear you're runnin' over to Yap, Mr. Grief,” Cornelius went on. “An' +two things I'm wantin' to beg of you: a passage an' the nip of the old +smoky I refused the night you landed.” + +Grief clapped his hands for the black steward and ordered soap and +towels. + +“Go for'ard, Cornelius, and take a scrub first,” he said. “The boy will +bring you a pair of dungarees and a shirt. And by the way, before you +go, how was it we found more coin in the treasury than paper you had +issued?” + +“'Twas the stake of my own I'd brought with me for the adventure.” + +“We've decided to charge the demurrage and other expenses and loss to +Tui Tulifau,” Grief said. “So the balance we found will be turned over +to you. But ten shillings must be deducted.” + +“For what?” + +“Do you think dead pigs grow on trees? The sum of ten shillings for that +pig is entered in the accounts.” + +Cornelius bowed his assent with a shudder. + +“Sure it's grateful I am it wasn't a fifteen-shilling pig or a +twenty-shilling one.” + + + + + +Chapter Eight--THE PEARLS OF PARLAY + + + + +I + +The Kanaka helmsman put the wheel down, and the _Malahini_ slipped into +the eye of the wind and righted to an even keel. Her head-sails emptied, +there was a rat-tat of reef-points and quick shifting of boom-tackles, +and she was heeled over and filled away on the other tack. Though it was +early morning and the wind brisk, the five white men who lounged on +the poop-deck were scantily clad. David Grief, and his guest, Gregory +Mulhall, an Englishman, were still in pajamas, their naked feet thrust +into Chinese slippers. The captain and mate were in thin undershirts and +unstarched duck pants, while the supercargo still held in his hands +the undershirt he was reluctant to put on. The sweat stood out on his +forehead, and he seemed to thrust his bare chest thirstily into the wind +that did not cool. + +“Pretty muggy, for a breeze like this,” he complained. + +“And what's it doing around in the west? That's what I want to know,” + was Grief's contribution to the general plaint. + +“It won't last, and it ain't been there long,” said Hermann, the Holland +mate. “She is been chop around all night--five minutes here, ten minutes +there, one hour somewhere other quarter.” + +“Something makin ', something makin ',” Captain Warfield croaked, +spreading his bushy beard with the fingers of both hands and shoving +the thatch of his chin into the breeze in a vain search for coolness. +“Weather's been crazy for a fortnight. Haven't had the proper trades in +three weeks. Everything's mixed up. Barometer was pumping at sunset last +night, and it's pumping now, though the weather sharps say it don't mean +anything. All the same, I've got a prejudice against seeing it pump. +Gets on my nerves, sort of, you know. She was pumping that way the time +we lost the _Lancaster_. I was only an apprentice, but I can remember +that well enough. Brand new, four-masted steel ship; first voyage; broke +the old man's heart. He'd been forty years in the company. Just faded +way and died the next year.” + +Despite the wind and the early hour, the heat was suffocating. The wind +whispered coolness, but did not deliver coolness. It might have blown +off the Sahara, save for the extreme humidity with which it was laden. +There was no fog nor mist, nor hint of fog or mist, yet the dimness of +distance produced the impression. There were no defined clouds, yet +so thickly were the heavens covered by a messy cloud-pall that the sun +failed to shine through. + +“Ready about!” Captain Warfield ordered with slow sharpness. + +The brown, breech-clouted Kanaka sailors moved languidly but quickly to +head-sheets and boom-tackles. + +“Hard a-lee!” + +The helmsman ran the spokes over with no hint of gentling, and the +_Malahini_ darted prettily into the wind and about. + +“Jove! she's a witch!” was Mulhall's appreciation. “I didn't know you +South Sea traders sailed yachts.” + +“She was a Gloucester fisherman originally,” Grief explained, “and +the Gloucester boats are all yachts when it comes to build, rig, and +sailing.” + +“But you're heading right in--why don't you make it?” came the +Englishman's criticism. + +“Try it, Captain Warfield,” Grief suggested. “Show him what a lagoon +entrance is on a strong ebb.” + +“Close-and-by!” the captain ordered. + +“Close-and-by,” the Kanaka repeated, easing half a spoke. + +The _Malahini_ laid squarely into the narrow passage which was the +lagoon entrance _of_ a large, long, and narrow oval of an atoll. The +atoll was shaped as if three atolls, in the course of building, had +collided and coalesced and failed to rear the partition walls. Cocoanut +palms grew in spots on the circle of sand, and there were many gaps +where the sand was too low to the sea for cocoanuts, and through which +could be seen the protected lagoon where the water lay flat like the +ruffled surface of a mirror. Many square miles of water were in the +irregular lagoon, all of which surged out on the ebb through the one +narrow channel. So narrow was the channel, so large the outflow of +water, that the passage was more like the rapids of a river than the +mere tidal entrance to an atoll. The water boiled and whirled and +swirled and drove outward in a white foam of stiff, serrated waves. Each +heave and blow on her bows of the upstanding waves of the current swung +the Malahini off the straight lead and wedged her as with wedges of +steel toward the side of the passage. Part way in she was, when her +closeness to the coral edge compelled her to go about. On the opposite +tack, broadside to the current, she swept seaward with the current's +speed. + +“Now's the time for that new and expensive engine of yours,” Grief +jeered good-naturedly. + +That the engine was a sore point with Captain Warfield was patent. He +had begged and badgered for it, until in the end Grief had given his +consent. + +“It will pay for itself yet,” the captain retorted, “You wait and +see. It beats insurance and you know the underwriters won't stand for +insurance in the Paumotus.” + +Grief pointed to a small cutter beating up astern of them on the same +course. + +“I'll wager a five-franc piece the little Nuhiva beats us in.” + +“Sure,” Captain Warfield agreed. “She's overpowered. We're like a liner +alongside of her, and we've only got forty horsepower. She's got ten +horse, and she's a little skimming dish. She could skate across the +froth of hell, but just the same she can't buck this current. It's +running ten knots right now.” + +And at the rate of ten knots, buffeted and jerkily rolled, the +_Malahini_ went out to sea with the tide. + +“She'll slacken in half an hour--then we'll make headway,” Captain +Warfield said, with an irritation explained by his next words. “He has +no right to call it Parlay. It's down on the admiralty charts, and the +French charts, too, as Hikihoho. Bougainville discovered it and named it +from the natives.” + +“What's the name matter?” the supercargo demanded, taking advantage of +speech to pause with arms shoved into the sleeves of the undershirt. +“There it is, right under our nose, and old Parlay is there with the +pearls.” + +“Who see them pearl?” Hermann queried, looking from one to another. + +“It's well known,” was the supercargo's reply. He turned to the +steersman: “Tai-Hotauri, what about old Parlay's pearls?” + +The Kanaka, pleased and self-conscious, took and gave a spoke. + +“My brother dive for Parlay three, four month, and he make much talk +about pearl. Hikihoho very good place for pearl.” + +“And the pearl-buyers have never got him to part with a pearl,” the +captain broke in. + +“And they say he had a hatful for Armande when he sailed for Tahiti,” + the supercargo carried on the tale. “That's fifteen years ago, and he's +been adding to it ever since--stored the shell as well. Everybody's seen +that--hundreds of tons of it. They say the lagoon's fished clean now. +Maybe that's why he's announced the auction.” + +“If he really sells, this will be the biggest year's output of pearls in +the Paumotus,” Grief said. + +“I say, now, look here!” Mulhall burst forth, harried by the humid +heat as much as the rest of them. “What's it all about? Who's the old +beachcomber anyway? What are all these pearls? Why so secretious about +it?” + +“Hikihoho belongs to old Parlay,” the supercargo answered. “He's got a +fortune in pearls, saved up for years and years, and he sent the word +out weeks ago that he'd auction them off to the buyers to-morrow. See +those schooners' masts sticking up inside the lagoon?” + +“Eight, so I see,” said Hermann. + +“What are they doing in a dinky atoll like this?” the supercargo went +on. “There isn't a schooner-load of copra a year in the place. They've +come for the auction. That's why we're here. That's why the little +_Nuhiva's_ bumping along astern there, though what she can buy is beyond +me. Narii Herring--he's an English Jew half-caste--owns and runs her, +and his only assets are his nerve, his debts, and his whiskey bills. +He's a genius in such things. He owes so much that there isn't a +merchant in Papeete who isn't interested in his welfare. They go out of +their way to throw work in his way. They've got to, and a dandy stunt it +is for Narii. Now I owe nobody. What's the result? If I fell down in +a fit on the beach they'd let me lie there and die. They wouldn't lose +anything. But Narii Herring?--what wouldn't they do if he fell in a fit? +Their best wouldn't be too good for him. They've got too much money +tied up in him to let him lie. They'd take him into their homes and +hand-nurse him like a brother. Let me tell you, honesty in paying bills +ain't what it's cracked up to be.” + +“What's this Narii chap got to do with it?” was the Englishman's +short-tempered demand. And, turning to Grief, he said, “What's all this +pearl nonsense? Begin at the beginning.” + +“You'll have to help me out,” Grief warned the others, as he began. “Old +Parlay is a character. From what I've seen of him I believe he's partly +and mildly insane. Anyway, here's the story: Parlay's a full-blooded +Frenchman. He told me once that he came from Paris. His accent is the +true Parisian. He arrived down here in the old days. Went to trading +and all the rest. That's how he got in on Hikihoho. Came in trading when +trading was the real thing. About a hundred miserable Paumotans lived +on the island. He married the queen--native fashion. When she died, +everything was his. Measles came through, and there weren't more than a +dozen survivors. He fed them, and worked them, and was king. Now before +the queen died she gave birth to a girl. That's Armande. When she was +three he sent her to the convent at Papeete. When she was seven or eight +he sent her to France. You begin to glimpse the situation. The best +and most aristocratic convent in France was none too good for the only +daughter of a Paumotan island king and capitalist, and you know the old +country French draw no colour line. She was educated like a princess, +and she accepted herself in much the same way. Also, she thought she was +all-white, and never dreamed of a bar sinister. + +“Now comes the tragedy. The old man had always been cranky and erratic, +and he'd played the despot on Hikihoho so long that he'd got the idea +in his head that there was nothing wrong with the king--or the princess +either. When Armande was eighteen he sent for her. He had slews and +slathers of money, as Yankee Bill would say. He'd built the big house on +Hikihoho, and a whacking fine bungalow in Papeete. She was to arrive on +the mail boat from New Zealand, and he sailed in his schooner to meet +her at Papeete. And he might have carried the situation off, despite the +hens and bull-beasts of Papeete, if it hadn't been for the hurricane. +That was the year, wasn't it, when Manu-Huhi was swept and eleven +hundred drowned?” + +The others nodded, and Captain Warfield said: “I was in the _Magpie_ +that blow, and we went ashore, all hands and the cook, _Magpie_ and all, +a quarter of a mile into the cocoanuts at the head of Taiohae Bay--and +it a supposedly hurricane-proof harbour.” + +“Well,” Grief continued, “old Parlay got caught in the same blow, and +arrived in Papeete with his hatful of pearls three weeks too late. He'd +had to jack up his schooner and build half a mile of ways before he +could get her back into the sea. + +“And in the meantime there was Armande at Papeete. Nobody called on her. +She did, French fashion, make the initial calls on the Governor and the +port doctor. They saw her, but neither of their hen-wives was at home to +her nor returned the call. She was out of caste, without caste, though +she had never dreamed it, and that was the gentle way they broke the +information to her. There was a gay young lieutenant on the French +cruiser. He lost his heart to her, but not his head. You can imagine +the shock to this young woman, refined, beautiful, raised like an +aristocrat, pampered with the best of old France that money could buy. +And you can guess the end.” He shrugged his shoulders. “There was a +Japanese servant in the bungalow. He saw it. Said she did it with the +proper spirit of the Samurai. Took a stiletto--no thrust, no drive, +no wild rush for annihilation--took the stiletto, placed the point +carefully against her heart, and with both hands, slowly and steadily, +pressed home. + +“Old Parlay arrived after that with his pearls. There was one single one +of them, they say, worth sixty thousand francs. Peter Gee saw it, and +has told me he offered that much for it. The old man went clean off for +a while. They had him strait-jacketed in the Colonial Club two days----” + +“His wife's uncle, an old Paumotan, cut him out of the jacket and turned +him loose,” the supercargo corroborated. + +“And then old Parlay proceeded to eat things up,” Grief went on. “Pumped +three bullets into the scalawag of a lieutenant----” + +“Who lay in sick bay for three months,” Captain Warfield contributed. + +“Flung a glass of wine in the Governor's face; fought a duel with the +port doctor; beat up his native servants; wrecked the hospital; broke +two ribs and the collarbone of a man nurse, and escaped; and went down +to his schooner, a gun in each hand, daring the chief of police and all +the gendarmes to arrest him, and sailed for Hikihoho. And they say he's +never left the island since.” + +The supercargo nodded. “That was fifteen years ago, and he's never +budged.” + +“And added to his pearls,” said the captain. “He's a blithering old +lunatic. Makes my flesh creep. He's a regular Finn.” + +“What's that?” Mulhall inquired. + +“Bosses the weather--that's what the natives believe, at any rate. Ask +Tai-Hotauri there. Hey, Tai-Hotauri! what you think old Parlay do along +weather?” + +“Just the same one big weather devil,” came the Kanaka's answer. “I +know. He want big blow, he make big blow. He want no wind, no wind +come.” + +“A regular old Warlock,” said Mulhall. + +“No good luck them pearl,” Tai-Hotauri blurted out, rolling his head +ominously. “He say he sell. Plenty schooner come. Then he make big +hurricane, everybody finish, you see. All native men say so.” + +“It's hurricane season now,” Captain War-field laughed morosely. +“They're not far wrong. It's making for something right now, and I'd +feel better if the _Malahini_ was a thousand miles away from here.” + +“He is a bit mad,” Grief concluded. “I've tried to get his point of +view. It's--well, it's mixed. For eighteen years he'd centred everything +on Armande. Half the time he believes she's still alive, not yet come +back from France. That's one of the reasons he held on to the pearls. +And all the time he hates white men. He never forgets they killed her, +though a great deal of the time he forgets she's dead. Hello! Where's +your wind?” + +The sails bellied emptily overhead, and Captain Warfield grunted his +disgust. Intolerable as the heat had been, in the absence of wind it +was almost overpowering. The sweat oozed out on all their faces, and now +one, and again another, drew deep breaths, involuntarily questing for +more air. + +“Here she comes again--an eight point haul! Boom-tackles across! Jump!” + +The Kanakas sprang to the captain's orders, and for five minutes the +schooner laid directly into the passage and even gained on the current. +Again the breeze fell flat, then puffed from the old quarter, compelling +a shift back of sheets and tackles. + +“Here comes the _Nuhiva_” Grief said. “She's got her engine on. Look at +her skim.” + +“All ready?” the captain asked the engineer, a Portuguese half-caste, +whose head and shoulders protruded from the small hatch just for'ard of +the cabin, and who wiped the sweat from his face with a bunch of greasy +waste. + +“Sure,” he replied. + +“Then let her go.” + +The engineer disappeared into his den, and a moment later the exhaust +muffler coughed and spluttered overside. But the schooner could not hold +her lead. The little cutter made three feet to her two and was quickly +alongside and forging ahead. Only natives were on her deck, and the man +steering waved his hand in derisive greeting and farewell. + +“That's Narii Herring,” Grief told Mulhall. “The big fellow at the +wheel--the nerviest and most conscienceless scoundrel in the Paumotus.” + +Five minutes later a cry of joy from their own Kanakas centred all eyes +on the _Nuhiva_. Her engine had broken down and they were overtaking +her. The _Malahini's_ sailors sprang into the rigging and jeered as they +went by; the little cutter heeled over by the wind with a bone in her +teeth, going backward on the tide. + +“Some engine that of ours,” Grief approved, as the lagoon opened before +them and the course was changed across it to the anchorage. + +Captain Warfield was visibly cheered, though he merely grunted, “It'll +pay for itself, never fear.” + +The _Malahini_ ran well into the centre of the little fleet ere she +found swinging room to anchor. + +“There's Isaacs on the _Dolly_,” Grief observed, with a hand wave of +greeting. “And Peter Gee's on the _Roberta_. Couldn't keep him away from +a pearl sale like this. And there's Francini on the _Cactus_. They're +all here, all the buyers. Old Parlay will surely get a price.” + +“They haven't repaired the engine yet,” Captain Warfield grumbled +gleefully. + +He was looking across the lagoon to where the _Nuhiva's_ sails showed +through the sparse cocoa-nuts. + + + + +II + +The house of Parlay was a big two-story frame affair, built of +California lumber, with a galvanized iron roof. So disproportionate +was it to the slender ring of the atoll that it showed out upon the +sand-strip and above it like some monstrous excrescence. They of the +_Malahini_ paid the courtesy visit ashore immediately after anchoring. +Other captains and buyers were in the big room examining the pearls that +were to be auctioned next day. Paumotan servants, natives of Hikihoho, +and relatives of the owner, moved about dispensing whiskey and absinthe. +And through the curious company moved Parlay himself, cackling and +sneering, the withered wreck of what had once been a tall and powerful +man. His eyes were deep sunken and feverish, his cheeks fallen in and +cavernous. The hair of his head seemed to have come out in patches, and +his mustache and imperial had shed in the same lopsided way. + +“Jove!” Mulhall muttered under his breath. “A long-legged Napoleon the +Third, but burnt out, baked, and fire-crackled. And mangy! No wonder he +crooks his head to one side. He's got to keep the balance.” + +“Goin' to have a blow,” was the old man's greeting to Grief. “You must +think a lot of pearls to come a day like this.” + +“They're worth going to inferno for,” Grief laughed genially back, +running his eyes over the surface of the table covered by the display. + +“Other men have already made that journey for them,” old Parlay cackled. +“See this one!” He pointed to a large, perfect pearl the size of a small +walnut that lay apart on a piece of chamois. “They offered me sixty +thousand francs for it in Tahiti. They'll bid as much and more for it +to-morrow, if they aren't blown away. Well, that pearl, it was found by +my cousin, my cousin by marriage. He was a native, you see. Also, he +was a thief. He hid it. It was mine. His cousin, who was also my +cousin--we're all related here--killed him for it and fled away in a +cutter to Noo-Nau. I pursued, but the chief of Noo-Nau had killed him +for it before I got there. Oh, yes, there are many dead men represented +on the table there. Have a drink, Captain. Your face is not familiar. +You are new in the islands?” + +“It's Captain Robinson of the _Roberta_,” Grief said, introducing them. + +In the meantime Mulhall had shaken hands with Peter Gee. + +“I never fancied there were so many pearls in the world,” Mulhall said. + +“Nor have I ever seen so many together at one time,” Peter Gee admitted. + +“What ought they to be worth?” + +“Fifty or sixty thousand pounds--and that's to us buyers. In +Paris----” He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his eyebrows at the +incommunicableness of the sum. + +Mulhall wiped the sweat from his eyes. All were sweating profusely +and breathing hard. There was no ice in the drink that was served, and +whiskey and absinthe went down lukewarm. + +“Yes, yes,” Parlay was cackling. “Many dead men lie on the table +there. I know those pearls, all of them. You see those three! Perfectly +matched, aren't they? A diver from Easter Island got them for me inside +a week. Next week a shark got him; took his arm off and blood poison did +the business. And that big baroque there--nothing much--if I'm +offered twenty francs for it to-morrow I'll be in luck; it came out of +twenty-two fathoms of water. The man was from Raratonga. He broke all +diving records. He got it out of twenty-two fathoms. I saw him. And he +burst his lungs at the same time, or got the 'bends,' for he died in two +hours. He died screaming. They could hear him for miles. He was the most +powerful native I ever saw. Half a dozen of my divers have died of the +bends. And more men will die, more men will die.” + +“Oh, hush your croaking, Parlay,” chided one of the captains. “It ain't +going to blow.” + +“If I was a strong man, I couldn't get up hook and get out fast enough,” + the old man retorted in the falsetto of age. “Not if I was a strong man +with the taste for wine yet in my mouth. But not you. You'll all stay, I +wouldn't advise you if I thought you'd go, You can't drive buzzards away +from the carrion. Have another drink, my brave sailor-men. Well, well, +what men will dare for a few little oyster drops! There they are, the +beauties! Auction to-morrow, at ten sharp. Old Parlay's selling out, and +the buzzards are gathering--old Parlay who was a stronger man in his day +than any of them and who will see most of them dead yet.” + +“If he isn't a vile old beast!” the supercargo of the _Malahini_ +whispered to Peter Gee. + +“What if she does blow?” said the captain of the _Dolly_. “Hikihoho's +never been swept.” + +“The more reason she will be, then,” Captain Warfield answered back. “I +wouldn't trust her.” + +“Who's croaking now?” Grief reproved. + +“I'd hate to lose that new engine before it paid for itself,” Captain +Warfield replied gloomily. + +Parlay skipped with astonishing nimbleness across the crowded room to +the barometer on the wall. + +“Take a look, my brave sailormen!” he cried exultantly. + +The man nearest read the glass. The sobering effect showed plainly on +his face. + +“It's dropped ten,” was all he said, yet every face went anxious, and +there was a look as if every man desired immediately to start for the +door. + +“Listen!” Parlay commanded. + +In the silence the outer surf seemed to have become unusually loud. +There was a great rumbling roar. + +“A big sea is beginning to set,” some one said; and there was a movement +to the windows, where all gathered. + +Through the sparse cocoanuts they gazed seaward. An orderly succession +of huge smooth seas was rolling down upon the coral shore. For some +minutes they gazed on the strange sight and talked in low voices, and in +those few minutes it was manifest to all that the waves were increasing +in size. It was uncanny, this rising sea in a dead calm, and their +voices unconsciously sank lower. Old Parlay shocked them with his abrupt +cackle. + +“There is yet time to get away to sea, brave gentlemen. You can tow +across the lagoon with your whaleboats.” + +“It's all right, old man,” said Darling, the mate of the _Cactus_, a +stalwart youngster of twenty-five. “The blow's to the southward and +passing on. We'll not get a whiff of it.” + +An air of relief went through the room. Conversations were started, and +the voices became louder. Several of the buyers even went back to the +table to continue the examination of the pearls. + +Parlay's shrill cackle rose higher. + +“That's right,” he encouraged. “If the world was coming to an end you'd +go on buying.” + +“We'll buy these to-morrow just the same,” Isaacs assured him. + +“Then you'll be doing your buying in hell.” + +The chorus of incredulous laughter incensed the old man. He turned +fiercely on Darling. + +“Since when have children like you come to the knowledge of storms? And +who is the man who has plotted the hurricane-courses of the Paumotus? +What books will you find it in? I sailed the Paumotus before the oldest +of you drew breath. I know. To the eastward the paths of the hurricanes +are on so wide a circle they make a straight line. To the westward here +they make a sharp curve. Remember your chart. How did it happen the +hurricane of '91 swept Auri and Hiolau? The curve, my brave boy, the +curve! In an hour, or two or three at most, will come the wind. Listen +to that!” + +A vast rumbling crash shook the coral foundations of the atoll. The +house quivered to it. The native servants, with bottles of whiskey and +absinthe in their hands, shrank together as if for protection and stared +with fear through the windows at the mighty wash of the wave lapping far +up the beach to the corner of a copra-shed. + +Parlay looked at the barometer, giggled, and leered around at his +guests. Captain War-field strode across to see. + +“29:75,” he read. “She's gone down five more. By God! the old devil's +right. She's a-coming, and it's me, for one, for aboard.” + +“It's growing dark,” Isaacs half whispered. + +“Jove! it's like a stage,” Mulhall said to Grief, looking at his watch. +“Ten o'clock in the morning, and it's like twilight. Down go the lights +for the tragedy. Where's the slow music!” + +In answer, another rumbling crash shook the atoll and the house. Almost +in a panic the company started for the door. In the dim light their +sweaty faces appeared ghastly. Isaacs panted asthmatically in the +suffocating heat. + +“What's your haste?” Parlay chuckled and girded at his departing guests. +“A last drink, brave gentlemen.” No one noticed him. As they took the +shell-bordered path to the beach he stuck his head out the door and +called, “Don't forget, gentlemen, at ten to-morrow old Parlay sells his +pearls.” + + + + +III + +On the beach a curious scene took place. Whaleboat after whaleboat was +being hurriedly manned and shoved off. It had grown still darker. The +stagnant calm continued, and the sand shook under their feet with each +buffet of the sea on the outer shore. Narii Herring walked leisurely +along the sand. He grinned at the very evident haste of the captains and +buyers. With him were three of his Kanakas, and also Tai-Hotauri. + +“Get into the boat and take an oar,” Captain Warfield ordered the +latter. + +Tai-Hotauri came over jauntily, while Narii Herring and his three +Kanakas paused and looked on from forty feet away. + +“I work no more for you, skipper,” Tai-Hotauri said insolently and +loudly. But his face belied his words, for he was guilty of a +prodigious wink. “Fire me, skipper,” he huskily whispered, with a second +significant wink. + +Captain Warfield took the cue and proceeded to do some acting himself. +He raised his fist and his voice. + +“Get into that boat,” he thundered, “or I'll knock seven bells out of +you!” + +The Kanaka drew back truculently, and Grief stepped between to placate +his captain. + +“I go to work on the _Nuhiva_,” Tai-Hotauri said, rejoining the other +group. + +“Come back here!” the captain threatened. + +“He's a free man, skipper,” Narii Herring spoke up. “He's sailed with me +in the past, and he's sailing again, that's all.” + +“Come on, we must get on board,” Grief urged. “Look how dark it's +getting.” + +Captain Warfield gave in, but as the boat shoved off he stood up in the +sternsheets and shook his fist ashore. + +“I'll settle with you yet, Narii,” he cried. “You're the only skipper in +the group that steals other men's sailors,” He sat down, and in lowered +voice queried: “Now what's Tai-Hotauri up to? He's on to something, but +what is it?” + + + + +IV + +As the boat came alongside the _Malahini_, Hermann's anxious face +greeted them over the rail. + +“Bottom out fall from barometer,” he announced. “She's goin' to blow. I +got starboard anchor overhaul.” + +“Overhaul the big one, too,” Captain Warfield ordered, taking charge. +“And here, some of you, hoist in this boat. Lower her down to the deck +and lash her bottom up.” + +Men were busy at work on the decks of all the schooners. There was a +great clanking of chains being overhauled, and now one craft, and +now another, hove in, veered, and dropped a second anchor. Like the +_Malahini_, those that had third anchors were preparing to drop them +when the wind showed what quarter it was to blow from. + +The roar of the big surf continually grew though the lagoon lay in the +mirror-like calm. + +There was no sign of life where Parlay's big house perched on the sand. +Boat and copra-sheds and the sheds where the shell was stored were +deserted. + +“For two cents I'd up anchors and get out,” Grief said. “I'd do it +anyway if it were open sea. But those chains of atolls to the north and +east have us pocketed. We've a better chance right here. What do you +think, Captain Warfield?” + +“I agree with you, though a lagoon is no mill-pond for riding it out. +I wonder where she's going to start from? Hello! There goes one of +Parlay's copra-sheds.” + +They could see the grass-thatched shed lift and collapse, while a froth +of foam cleared the crest of the sand and ran down to the lagoon. + +“Breached across!” Mulhall exclaimed. “That's something for a starter. +There she comes again!” + +The wreck of the shed was now flung up and left on the sand-crest, A +third wave buffeted it into fragments which washed down the slope toward +the lagoon. + +“If she blow I would as be cooler yet,” Hermann grunted. “No longer can +I breathe. It is damn hot. I am dry like a stove.” + +He chopped open a drinking cocoanut with his heavy sheath-knife and +drained the contents. The rest of them followed his example, pausing +once to watch one of Parlay's shell sheds go down in ruin. The barometer +now registered 29:50. + +“Must be pretty close to the centre of the area of low pressure,” Grief +remarked cheerfully. “I was never through the eye of a hurricane before. +It will be an experience for you, too, Mulhall. From the speed the +barometer's dropped, it's going to be a big one.” + +Captain Warfield groaned, and all eyes drew to him. He was looking +through the glasses down the length of the lagoon to the southeast. + +“There she comes,” he said quietly. + +They did not need glasses to see. A flying film, strangely marked, +seemed drawing over the surface of the lagoon. Abreast of it, along the +atoll, travelling with equal speed, was a stiff bending of the cocoanut +palms and a blur of flying leaves. The front of the wind on the water +was a solid, sharply defined strip of dark-coloured, wind-vexed water. +In advance of this strip, like skirmishers, were flashes of windflaws. +Behind this strip, a quarter of a mile in width, was a strip of what +seemed glassy calm. Next came another dark strip of wind, and behind +that the lagoon was all crisping, boiling whiteness. + +“What is that calm streak?” Mulhall asked. + +“Calm,” Warfield answered. + +“But it travels as fast as the wind,” was the other's objection. + +“It has to, or it would be overtaken and it wouldn't be any calm. It's +a double-header, I saw a big squall like that off Savaii once. A regular +double-header. Smash! it hit us, then it lulled to nothing, and smashed +us a second time. Stand by and hold on! Here she is on top of us. Look +at the _Roberta!_” + +The Roberta, lying nearest to the wind at slack chains, was swept off +broadside like a straw. Then her chains brought her up, bow on to the +wind, with an astonishing jerk. Schooner after schooner, the _Malahini_ +with them, was now sweeping away with the first gust and fetching up +on taut chains. Mulhall and several of the Kanakas were taken off their +feet when the _Malahini_ jerked to her anchors. + +And then there was no wind. The flying calm streak had reached +them. Grief lighted a match, and the unshielded flame burned without +flickering in the still air. A very dim twilight prevailed. The +cloud-sky, lowering as it had been for hours, seemed now to have +descended quite down upon the sea. + +The Roberta tightened to her chains when the second head of the +hurricane hit, as did schooner after schooner in swift succession. The +sea, white with fury, boiled in tiny, spitting wavelets. The deck of the +_Malahini_ vibrated under the men's feet. The taut-stretched halyards +beat a tattoo against the masts, and all the rigging, as if smote by +some mighty hand, set up a wild thrumming. It was impossible to face the +wind and breathe. Mulhall, crouching with the others behind the shelter +of the cabin, discovered this, and his lungs were filled in an instant +with so great a volume of driven air which he could not expel that he +nearly strangled ere he could turn his head away. + +“It's incredible,” he gasped, but no one heard him. + +Hermann and several Kanakas were crawling for'ard on hands and knees to +let go the third anchor. Grief touched Captain Warfield and pointed to +the _Roberta_. She was dragging down upon them. Warfield put his mouth +to Grief's ear and shouted: + +“We're dragging, too!” + +Grief sprang to the wheel and put it hard over, veering the _Mahhini_ +to port. The third anchor took hold, and the _Roberta_ went by, +stern-first, a dozen yards away. They waved their hands to Peter Gee +and Captain Robinson, who, with a number of sailors, were at work on the +bow. + +“He's knocking out the shackles!” Grief shouted. “Going to chance the +passage! Got to! Anchors skating!” + +“We're holding now!” came the answering shout. “There goes the _Cactus_ +down on the _Misi_. That settles them!” + +The _Misi_ had been holding, but the added windage of the _Cactus_ +was too much, and the entangled schooners slid away across the boiling +white. Their men could be seen chopping and fighting to get them apart. +The _Roberta_, cleared of her anchors, with a patch of tarpaulin set +for'ard, was heading for the passage at the northwestern end of the +lagoon. They saw her make it and drive out to sea. But the _Misi_ and +_Cactus_, unable to get clear of each other, went ashore on the atoll +half a mile from the passage. The wind merely increased on itself and +continued to increase. To face the full blast of it required all one's +strength, and several minutes of crawling on deck against it tired a man +to exhaustion. Hermann, with his Kanakas, plodded steadily, lashing and +making secure, putting ever more gaskets on the sails. The wind ripped +and tore their thin undershirts from their backs. They moved slowly, as +if their bodies weighed tons, never releasing a hand-hold until another +had been secured. Loose ends of rope stood out stiffly horizontal, and, +when a whipping gave, the loose end frazzled and blew away. + +Mulhall touched one and then another and pointed to the shore. The +grass-sheds had disappeared, and Parlay's house rocked drunkenly, +Because the wind blew lengthwise along the atoll, the house had been +sheltered by the miles of cocoanut trees. But the big seas, breaking +across from outside, were undermining it and hammering it to pieces. +Already tilted down the slope of sand, its end was imminent. Here and +there in the cocoanut trees people had lashed themselves. The trees did +not sway or thresh about. Bent over rigidly from the wind, they remained +in that position and vibrated monstrously. Underneath, across the sand, +surged the white spume of the breakers. A big sea was likewise making +down the length of the lagoon. It had plenty of room to kick up in +the ten-mile stretch from the windward rim of the atoll, and all the +schooners were bucking and plunging into it. The _Malahini_ had begun +shoving her bow and fo'c'sle head under the bigger ones, and at times +her waist was filled rail-high with water. + +“Now's the time for your engine!” Grief bellowed; and Captain Warfield, +crawling over to where the engineer lay, shouted emphatic commands. + +Under the engine, going full speed ahead, the _Malahini_ behaved better. +While she continued to ship seas over her bow, she was not jerked down +so fiercely by her anchors. On the other hand, she was unable to get any +slack in the chains. The best her forty horsepower could do was to ease +the strain. + +Still the wind increased. The little _Nuhiva_, lying abreast of the +_Malahini_ and closer in to the beach, her engine still unrepaired and +her captain ashore, was having a bad time of it. She buried herself so +frequently and so deeply that they wondered each time if she could clear +herself of the water. At three in the afternoon buried by a second sea +before she could free herself of the preceding one, she did not come up. + +Mulhall looked at Grief. + +“Burst in her hatches,” was the bellowed answer. + +Captain Warfield pointed to the _Winifred_, a little schooner plunging +and burying outside of them, and shouted in Grief's ear. His voice came +in patches of dim words, with intervals of silence when whisked away by +the roaring wind. + +“Rotten little tub... Anchors hold... But how she holds together... Old +as the ark----” + +An hour later Hermann pointed to her. Her for'ard bitts, foremast, and +most of her bow were gone, having been jerked out of her by her anchors. +She swung broadside, rolling in the trough and settling by the head, and +in this plight was swept away to leeward. + +Five vessels now remained, and of them the _Malahini_ was the only one +with an engine. Fearing either the _Nuhiva's_ or the _Winifdred's_ +fate, two of them followed the _Roberta's_ example, knocking out the +chain-shackles and running for the passage. The _Dolly_ was the first, +but her tarpaulin was carried away, and she went to destruction on the +lee-rim of the atoll near the _Misi_ and the _Cactus_. Undeterred by +this, the _Moana_ let go and followed with the same result. + +“Pretty good engine that, eh?” Captain Warfield yelled to his owner. + +Grief put out his hand and shook. “She's paying for herself!” he yelled +back. “The wind's shifting around to the southward, and we ought to lie +easier!” + +Slowly and steadily, but with ever-increasing velocity, the wind veered +around to the south and the southwest, till the three schooners that +were left pointed directly in toward the beach. The wreck of Parlay's +house was picked up, hurled into the lagoon, and blown out upon them. +Passing the _Malahini_, it crashed into the _Papara_, lying a quarter of +a mile astern. There was wild work for'ard on her, and in a quarter of +an hour the house went clear, but it had taken the _Papara's_ foremast +and bowsprit with it. + +Inshore, on their port bow, lay the _Tahaa_, slim and yacht-like, +but excessively oversparred. Her anchors still held, but her captain, +finding no abatement in the wind, proceeded to reduce windage by +chopping down his masts. + +“Pretty good engine that,” Grief congratulated his skipper, “It will +save our sticks for us yet.” + +Captain Warfield shook his head dubiously. + +The sea on the lagoon went swiftly down with the change of wind, but +they were beginning to feel the heave and lift of the outer sea breaking +across the atoll. There were not so many trees remaining. Some had been +broken short off, others uprooted. One tree they saw snap off halfway +up, three persons clinging to it, and whirl away by the wind into the +lagoon. Two detached themselves from it and swam to the Tahaa. Not +long after, just before darkness, they saw one jump overboard from that +schooner's stern and strike out strongly for the Malahini through the +white, spitting wavelets. + +“It's Tai-Hotauri,” was Grief's judgment. “Now we'll have the news.” + +The Kanaka caught the bobstay, climbed over the bow, and crawled aft. +Time was given him to breathe, and then, behind the part shelter of the +cabin, in broken snatches and largely by signs, he told his story. + +“Narii... damn robber... He want steal... pearls... Kill Parlay... One +man kill Parlay... No man know what man... Three Kanakas, Narii, me... +Five beans... hat... Narii say one bean black... Nobody know... Kill +Parlay... Narii damn liar... All beans black... Five black... Copra-shed +dark... Every man get black bean... Big wind come... No chance... +Everybody get up tree... No good luck them pearls... I tell you +before... No good luck.” + +“Where's Parlay?” Grief shouted. + +“Up tree... Three of his Kanakas same tree. Narii and one Kanaka'nother +tree... My tree blow to hell, then I come on board.” + +“Where's the pearls?” + +“Up tree along Parlay. Mebbe Narii get them pearl yet.” + +In the ear of one after another Grief passed on Tai-Hotauri's story. +Captain Warfield was particularly incensed, and they could see him +grinding his teeth. + +Hermann went below and returned with a riding light, but the moment it +was lifted above the level of the cabin wall the wind blew it out. He +had better success with the binnacle lamp, which was lighted only after +many collective attempts. + +“A fine night of wind!” Grief yelled in Mulhall's ear. “And blowing +harder all the time.” + +“How hard?” + +“A hundred miles an hour... two hundred... I don't know... Harder than +I've ever seen it.” + +The lagoon grew more and more troubled by the sea that swept across +the atoll. Hundreds of leagues of ocean was being backed up by the +hurricane, which more than overcame the lowering effect of the ebb tide. +Immediately the tide began to rise the increase in the size of the seas +was noticeable. Moon and wind were heaping the South Pacific on Hikihoho +atoll. + +Captain Warfield returned from one of his periodical trips to the engine +room with the word that the engineer lay in a faint. + +“Can't let that engine stop!” he concluded helplessly. + +“All right!” Grief said, “Bring him on deck. I'll spell him.” + +The hatch to the engine room was battened down, access being gained +through a narrow passage from the cabin. The heat and gas fumes were +stifling. Grief took one hasty, comprehensive examination of the engine +and the fittings of the tiny room, then blew out the oil-lamp. After +that he worked in darkness, save for the glow from endless cigars which +he went into the cabin to light. Even-tempered as he was, he soon began +to give evidences of the strain of being pent in with a mechanical +monster that toiled, and sobbed, and slubbered in the shouting dark. +Naked to the waist, covered with grease and oil, bruised and skinned +from being knocked about by the plunging, jumping vessel, his head +swimming from the mixture of gas and air he was compelled to breathe, +he laboured on hour after hour, in turns petting, blessing, nursing, and +cursing the engine and all its parts. The ignition began to go bad. The +feed grew worse. And worst of all, the cylinders began to heat. In +a consultation held in the cabin the half-caste engineer begged and +pleaded to stop the engine for half an hour in order to cool it and +to attend to the water circulation. Captain Warfield was against any +stopping. The half-caste swore that the engine would ruin itself and +stop anyway and for good. Grief, with glaring eyes, greasy and battered, +yelled and cursed them both down and issued commands. Mulhall, +the supercargo, and Hermann were set to work in the cabin at +double-straining and triple-straining the gasoline. A hole was chopped +through the engine room floor, and a Kanaka heaved bilge-water over the +cylinders, while Grief continued to souse running parts in oil. + +“Didn't know you were a gasoline expert,” Captain Warfield admired when +Grief came into the cabin to catch a breath of little less impure air. + +“I bathe in gasoline,” he grated savagely through his teeth. “I eat it.” + +What other uses he might have found for it were never given, for at that +moment all the men in the cabin, as well as the gasoline being strained, +were smashed forward against the bulkhead as the _Malahini_ took an +abrupt, deep dive. For the space of several minutes, unable to gain +their feet, they rolled back and forth and pounded and hammered from +wall to wall. The schooner, swept by three big seas, creaked and groaned +and quivered, and from the weight of water on her decks behaved logily. +Grief crept to the engine, while Captain Warfield waited his chance to +get through the companion-way and out on deck. + +It was half an hour before he came back. + +“Whaleboat's gone!” he reported. “Galley's gone! Everything gone except +the deck and hatches! And if that engine hadn't been going we'd be gone! +Keep up the good work!” + +By midnight the engineer's lungs and head had been sufficiently cleared +of gas fumes to let him relieve Grief, who went on deck to get his own +head and lungs clear. He joined the others, who crouched behind +the cabin, holding on with their hands and made doubly secure by +rope-lashings. It was a complicated huddle, for it was the only place +of refuge for the Kanakas. Some of them had accepted the skipper's +invitation into the cabin but had been driven out by the fumes. The +_Malahini_ was being plunged down and swept frequently, and what they +breathed was air and spray and water commingled. + +“Making heavy weather of it, Mulhall!” Grief shouted to his guest +between immersions. + +Mulhall, strangling and choking, could only nod. The scuppers could not +carry off the burden of water on the schooner's deck. She rolled it out +and took it in over one rail and the other; and at times, nose thrown +skyward, sitting down on her heel, she avalanched it aft. It surged +along the poop gangways, poured over the top of the cabin, submerging +and bruising those that clung on, and went out over the stern-rail. + +Mulhall saw him first, and drew Grief's attention. It was Narii Herring, +crouching and holding on where the dim binnacle light shone upon him. He +was quite naked, save for a belt and a bare-bladed knife thrust between +it and the skin. + +Captain Warfield untied his lashings and made his way over the bodies of +the others. When his face became visible in the light from the binnacle +it was working with anger. They could see him speak, but the wind tore +the sound away. He would not put his lips to Narii's ear. Instead, he +pointed over the side. Narii Herring understood. His white teeth showed +in an amused and sneering smile, and he stood up, a magnificent figure +of a man. + +“It's murder!” Mulhall yelled to Grief. + +“He'd have murdered Old Parlay!” Grief yelled back. + +For the moment the poop was clear of water and the _Malahini_ on an even +keel. Narii made a bravado attempt to walk to the rail, but was flung +down by the wind. Thereafter he crawled, disappearing in the darkness, +though there was certitude in all of them that he had gone over the +side. The Malahini dived deep, and when they emerged from the flood that +swept aft, Grief got Mulhall's ear. + +“Can't lose him! He's the Fish Man of Tahiti! He'll cross the lagoon and +land on the other rim of the atoll if there's any atoll left!” + +Five minutes afterward, in another submergence, a mess of bodies poured +down on them over the top of the cabin. These they seized and held +till the water cleared, when they carried them below and learned their +identity. Old Parlay lay oh his back on the floor, with closed eyes and +without movement. The other two were his Kanaka cousins. All three were +naked and bloody. The arm of one Kanaka hung helpless and broken at his +side. The other man bled freely from a hideous scalp wound. + +“Narii did that?” Mulhall demanded. + +Grief shook his head. “No; it's from being smashed along the deck and +over the house!” + +Something suddenly ceased, leaving them in dizzying uncertainty. For +the moment it was hard to realize there was no wind. With the absolute +abruptness of a sword slash, the wind had been chopped off. The schooner +rolled and plunged, fetching up on her anchors with a crash which for +the first time they could hear. Also, for the first time they could hear +the water washing about on deck. The engineer threw off the propeller +and eased the engine down. + +“We're in the dead centre,” Grief said. “Now for the shift. It will come +as hard as ever.” He looked at the barometer. “29:32,” he read. + +Not in a moment could he tone down the voice which for hours had battled +against the wind, and so loudly did he speak that in the quiet it hurt +the others' ears. + +“All his ribs are smashed,” the supercargo said, feeling along Parlay's +side. “He's still breathing, but he's a goner.” + +Old Parlay groaned, moved one arm impotently, and opened his eyes. In +them was the light of recognition. + +“My brave gentlemen,” he whispered haltingly. “Don't forget... the +auction... at ten o'clock... in hell.” + +His eyes dropped shut and the lower jaw threatened to drop, but he +mastered the qualms of dissolution long enough to omit one final, loud, +derisive cackle. + +Above and below pandemonium broke out. + +The old familiar roar of the wind was with them. The _Malahini_, caught +broadside, was pressed down almost on her beam ends as she swung the +arc compelled by her anchors. They rounded her into the wind, where she +jerked to an even keel. The propeller was thrown on, and the engine took +up its work again. + +“Northwest!” Captain Warfield shouted to Grief when he came on deck. +“Hauled eight points like a shot!” + +“Narii'll never get across the lagoon now!” Grief observed. + +“Then he'll blow back to our side, worse luck!” + + + + +V + +After the passing of the centre the barometer began to rise. Equally +rapid was the fall of the wind. When it was no more than a howling +gale, the engine lifted up in the air, parted its bed-plates with a last +convulsive effort of its forty horsepower, and lay down on its side. +A wash of water from the bilge sizzled over it and the steam arose in +clouds. The engineer wailed his dismay, but Grief glanced over the wreck +affectionately and went into the cabin to swab the grease off his chest +and arms with bunches of cotton waste. + +The sun was up and the gentlest of summer breezes blowing when he came +on deck, after sewing up the scalp of one Kanaka and setting the other's +arm. The _Malahini_ lay close in to the beach. For'ard, Hermann and the +crew were heaving in and straightening out the tangle of anchors. The +_Papara_ and the _Tahaa_ were gone, and Captain Warfield, through the +glasses, was searching the opposite rim of the atoll. + +“Not a stick left of them,” he said. “That's what comes of not having +engines. They must have dragged across before the big shift came.” + +Ashore, where Parlay's house had been, was no vestige of any house. For +the space of three hundred yards, where the sea had breached, no tree or +even stump was left. Here and there, farther along, stood an occasional +palm, and there were numbers which had been snapped off above the +ground. In the crown of one surviving palm Tai-Hotauri asserted he saw +something move. There were no boats left to the _Malahini_, and they +watched him swim ashore and climb the tree. + +When he came back, they helped over the rail a young native girl of +Parley's household. But first she passed up to them a battered basket. +In it was a litter of blind kittens--all dead save one, that feebly +mewed and staggered on awkward legs. + +“Hello!” said Mulhall. “Who's that?” + +Along the beach they saw a man walking. He moved casually, as if out +for a morning stroll. Captain Warfield gritted his teeth. It was Narii +Herring. + +“Hello, skipper!” Narii called, when he was abreast of them. “Can I come +aboard and get some breakfast?” + +Captain Warfield's face and neck began to swell and turn purple. He +tried to speak, but choked. + +“For two cents--for two cents----” was all he could manage to +articulate. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son Of The Sun, by Jack London + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + +***** This file should be named 21971-0.txt or 21971-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/9/7/21971/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/21971-0.zip b/21971-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1dadd86 --- /dev/null +++ b/21971-0.zip diff --git a/21971-8.txt b/21971-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..897c2dd --- /dev/null +++ b/21971-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7358 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son Of The Sun, by Jack London + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Son Of The Sun + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: June 29, 2007 [EBook #21971] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +A SON OF THE SUN + +BY JACK LONDON + + +1912 + + + +CONTENTS + + I. A Son of the Sun + + II. The Proud Goat of Aloysius Pankburn + + III. The Devils of Fuatino + + IV. The Jokers of New Gibbon + + V. A Little Account With Swithin Hall + + VI. A Goboto Night + + VII. The Feathers of the Sun + + VIII. The Peabls of Parlay + + + + +A SON OF THE SUN + + + + +Chapter One--A SON OF THE SUN + + + + +I + +The _Willi-Waw_ lay in the passage between the shore-reef and the +outer-reef. From the latter came the low murmur of a lazy surf, but the +sheltered stretch of water, not more than a hundred yards across to the +white beach of pounded coral sand, was of glass-like smoothness. Narrow +as was the passage, and anchored as she was in the shoalest place that +gave room to swing, the _Willi-Waw's_ chain rode up-and-down a clean +hundred feet. Its course could be traced over the bottom of living +coral. Like some monstrous snake, the rusty chain's slack wandered +over the ocean floor, crossing and recrossing itself several times and +fetching up finally at the idle anchor. Big rock-cod, dun and mottled, +played warily in and out of the coral. Other fish, grotesque of form and +colour, were brazenly indifferent, even when a big fish-shark drifted +sluggishly along and sent the rock-cod scuttling for their favourite +crevices. + +On deck, for'ard, a dozen blacks pottered clumsily at scraping the teak +rail. They were as inexpert at their work as so many monkeys. In fact +they looked very much like monkeys of some enlarged and prehistoric +type. Their eyes had in them the querulous plaintiveness of the monkey, +their faces were even less symmetrical than the monkey's, and, hairless +of body, they were far more ungarmented than any monkey, for clothes +they had none. Decorated they were as no monkey ever was. In holes in +their ears they carried short clay pipes, rings of turtle shell, huge +plugs of wood, rusty wire nails, and empty rifle cartridges. The calibre +of a Winchester rifle was the smallest hole an ear bore; some of the +largest holes were inches in diameter, and any single ear averaged from +three to half a dozen holes. Spikes and bodkins of polished bone or +petrified shell were thrust through their noses. On the chest of one +hung a white doorknob, on the chest of another the handle of a china +cup, on the chest of a third the brass cogwheel of an alarm clock. They +chattered in queer, falsetto voices, and, combined, did no more work +than a single white sailor. + +Aft, under an awning, were two white men. Each was clad in a six-penny +undershirt and wrapped about the loins with a strip of cloth. Belted +about the middle of each was a revolver and tobacco pouch. The sweat +stood out on their skin in myriads of globules. Here and there the +globules coalesced in tiny streams that dripped to the heated deck and +almost immediately evaporated. The lean, dark-eyed man wiped his fingers +wet with a stinging stream from his forehead and flung it from him with +a weary curse. Wearily, and without hope, he gazed seaward across the +outer-reef, and at the tops of the palms along the beach. + +"Eight o'clock, an' hell don't get hot till noon," he complained. "Wisht +to God for a breeze. Ain't we never goin' to get away?" + +The other man, a slender German of five and twenty, with the massive +forehead of a scholar and the tumble-home chin of a degenerate, did not +trouble to reply. He was busy emptying powdered quinine into a cigarette +paper. Rolling what was approximately fifty grains of the drug into a +tight wad, he tossed it into his mouth and gulped it down without the +aid of water. + +"Wisht I had some whiskey," the first man panted, after a fifteen-minute +interval of silence. + +Another equal period elapsed ere the German enounced, relevant of +nothing: + +"I'm rotten with fever. I'm going to quit you, Griffiths, when we get to +Sydney. No more tropics for me. I ought to known better when I signed on +with you." + +"You ain't been much of a mate," Griffiths replied, too hot himself to +speak heatedly. "When the beach at Guvutu heard I'd shipped you, they +all laughed. 'What? Jacobsen?' they said. 'You can't hide a square +face of trade gin or sulphuric acid that he won't smell out!' You've +certainly lived up to your reputation. I ain't had a drink for a +fortnight, what of your snoopin' my supply." + +"If the fever was as rotten in you as me, you'd understand," the mate +whimpered. + +"I ain't kickin'," Griffiths answered. "I only wisht God'd send me a +drink, or a breeze of wind, or something. I'm ripe for my next chill +to-morrow." + +The mate proffered him the quinine. Rolling a fifty-grain dose, he +popped the wad into his mouth and swallowed it dry. + +"God! God!" he moaned. "I dream of a land somewheres where they ain't no +quinine. Damned stuff of hell! I've scoffed tons of it in my time." + +Again he quested seaward for signs of wind. The usual trade-wind clouds +were absent, and the sun, still low in its climb to meridian, turned all +the sky to heated brass. One seemed to see as well as feel this heat, +and Griffiths sought vain relief by gazing shoreward. The white beach +was a searing ache to his eyeballs. The palm trees, absolutely still, +outlined flatly against the unrefreshing green of the packed jungle, +seemed so much cardboard scenery. The little black boys, playing +naked in the dazzle of sand and sun, were an affront and a hurt to the +sun-sick man. He felt a sort of relief when one, running, tripped and +fell on all-fours in the tepid sea-water. + +An exclamation from the blacks for'ard sent both men glancing seaward. +Around the near point of land, a quarter of a mile away and skirting the +reef, a long black canoe paddled into sight. + +"Gooma boys from the next bight," was the mate's verdict. + +One of the blacks came aft, treading the hot deck with the unconcern of +one whose bare feet felt no heat. This, too, was a hurt to Griffiths, +and he closed his eyes. But the next moment they were open wide. + +"White fella marster stop along Gooma boy," the black said. + +Both men were on their feet and gazing at the canoe. Aft could be seen +the unmistakable sombrero of a white man. Quick alarm showed itself on +the face of the mate. + +"It's Grief," he said. + +Griffiths satisfied himself by a long look, then ripped out a wrathful +oath. + +"What's he doing up here?" he demanded of the mate, of the aching sea +and sky, of the merciless blaze of sun, and of the whole superheated and +implacable universe with which his fate was entangled. + +The mate began to chuckle. + +"I told you you couldn't get away with it," he said. + +But Griffiths was not listening. + +"With all his money, coming around like a rent collector," he chanted +his outrage, almost in an ecstasy of anger. "He's loaded with money, +he's stuffed with money, he's busting with money. I know for a fact he +sold his Yringa plantations for three hundred thousand pounds. Bell +told me so himself last time we were drunk at Guvutu. Worth millions and +millions, and Shylocking me for what he wouldn't light his pipe with." +He whirled on the mate. "Of course you told me so. Go on and say it, and +keep on saying it. Now just what was it you did tell me so?" + +"I told you you didn't know him, if you thought you could clear the +Solomons without paying him. That man Grief is a devil, but he's +straight. I know. I told you he'd throw a thousand quid away for the fun +of it, and for sixpence fight like a shark for a rusty tin, I tell you I +know. Didn't he give his _Balakula_ to the Queensland Mission when they +lost their _Evening Star_ on San Cristobal?--and the _Balakula_ worth +three thousand pounds if she was worth a penny? And didn't he beat up +Strothers till he lay abed a fortnight, all because of a difference of +two pound ten in the account, and because Strothers got fresh and tried +to make the gouge go through?" + +"God strike me blind!" Griffiths cried in im-potency of rage. + +The mate went on with his exposition. + +"I tell you only a straight man can buck a straight man like him, and +the man's never hit the Solomons that could do it. Men like you and me +can't buck him. We're too rotten, too rotten all the way through. You've +got plenty more than twelve hundred quid below. Pay him, and get it over +with." + +But Griffiths gritted his teeth and drew his thin lips tightly across +them. + +"I'll buck him," he muttered--more to himself and the brazen ball of sun +than to the mate. He turned and half started to go below, then turned +back again. "Look here, Jacob-sen. He won't be here for quarter of an +hour. Are you with me? Will you stand by me?" + +"Of course I'll stand by you. I've drunk all your whiskey, haven't I? +What are you going to do?" + +"I'm not going to kill him if I can help it. But I'm not going to pay. +Take that flat." + +Jacobsen shrugged his shoulders in calm acquiescence to fate, and +Griffiths stepped to the companionway and went below. + + + + +II + +Jacobsen watched the canoe across the low reef as it came abreast and +passed on to the entrance of the passage. Griffiths, with ink-marks on +right thumb and forefinger, returned on deck Fifteen minutes later the +canoe came alongside. The man with the sombrero stood up. + +"Hello, Griffiths!" he said. "Hello, Jacobsen!" With his hand on the +rail he turned to his dusky crew. "You fella boy stop along canoe +altogether." + +As he swung over the rail and stepped on deck a hint of catlike +litheness showed in the apparently heavy body. Like the other two, he +was scantily clad. The cheap undershirt and white loin-cloth did not +serve to hide the well put up body. Heavy muscled he was, but he was +not lumped and hummocked by muscles. They were softly rounded, and, when +they did move, slid softly and silkily under the smooth, tanned skin. +Ardent suns had likewise tanned his face till it was swarthy as a +Spaniard's. The yellow mustache appeared incongruous in the midst of +such swarthiness, while the clear blue of the eyes produced a feeling of +shock on the beholder. It was difficult to realize that the skin of this +man had once been fair. + +"Where did you blow in from?" Griffiths asked, as they shook hands. "I +thought you were over in the Santa Cruz." + +"I was," the newcomer answered. "But we made a quick passage. The +_Wonder's_ just around in the bight at Gooma, waiting for wind. Some +of the bushmen reported a ketch here, and I just dropped around to see. +Well, how goes it?" + +"Nothing much. Copra sheds mostly empty, and not half a dozen tons of +ivory nuts. The women all got rotten with fever and quit, and the men +can't chase them back into the swamps. They're a sick crowd. I'd ask you +to have a drink, but the mate finished off my last bottle. I wisht to +God for a breeze of wind." + +Grief, glancing with keen carelessness from one to the other, laughed. + +"I'm glad the calm held," he said. "It enabled me to get around to see +you. My supercargo dug up that little note of yours, and I brought it +along." + +The mate edged politely away, leaving his skipper to face his trouble. + +"I'm sorry, Grief, damned sorry," Griffiths said, "but I ain't got it. +You'll have to give me a little more time." + +Grief leaned up against the companionway, surprise and pain depicted on +his face. + +"It does beat hell," he communed, "how men learn to lie in the Solomons. +The truth's not in them. Now take Captain Jensen. I'd sworn by his +truthfulness. Why, he told me only five days ago--do you want to know +what he told me?" + +Griffiths licked his lips. + +"Go on." + +"Why, he told me that you'd sold out--sold out everything, cleaned up, +and was pulling out for the New Hebrides." + +"He's a damned liar!" Griffiths cried hotly. + +Grief nodded. + +"I should say so. He even had the nerve to tell me that he'd bought two +of your stations from you--Mauri and Kahula. Said he paid you seventeen +hundred gold sovereigns, lock, stock and barrel, good will, trade-goods, +credit, and copra." + +Griffiths's eyes narrowed and glinted. The action was involuntary, and +Grief noted it with a lazy sweep of his eyes. + +"And Parsons, your trader at Hickimavi, told me that the Fulcrum Company +had bought that station from you. Now what did he want to lie for?" + +Griffiths, overwrought by sun and sickness, exploded. All his bitterness +of spirit rose up in his face and twisted his mouth into a snarl. + +"Look here, Grief, what's the good of playing with me that way? You +know, and I know you know. Let it go at that. I _have_ sold out, and I +_am_ getting away. And what are you going to do about it?" + +Grief shrugged his shoulders, and no hint of resolve shadowed itself in +his own face. His expression was as of one in a quandary. + +"There's no law here," Griffiths pressed home his advantage. "Tulagi is +a hundred and fifty miles away. I've got my clearance papers, and I'm +on my own boat. There's nothing to stop me from sailing. You've got no +right to stop me just because I owe you a little money. And by God! you +can't stop me. Put that in your pipe." + +The look of pained surprise on Grief's face deepened. + +"You mean you're going to cheat me out of that twelve hundred, +Griffiths?" + +"That's just about the size of it, old man. And calling hard names won't +help any. There's the wind coming. You'd better get overside before I +pull out, or I'll tow your canoe under." + +"Really, Griffiths, you sound almost right. I can't stop you." Grief +fumbled in the pouch that hung on his revolver-belt and pulled out a +crumpled official-looking paper. "But maybe this will stop you. And it's +something for _your_ pipe. Smoke up." + +"What is it?" + +"An admiralty warrant. Running to the New Hebrides won't save you. It +can be served anywhere." + +Griffiths hesitated and swallowed, when he had finished glancing at the +document. With knit brows he pondered this new phase of the situation. +Then, abruptly, as he looked up, his face relaxed into all frankness. + +"You were cleverer than I thought, old man," he said. "You've got me +hip and thigh. I ought to have known better than to try and beat you. +Jacobsen told me I couldn't, and I wouldn't listen to him. But he was +right, and so are you. I've got the money below. Come on down and we'll +settle." + +He started to go down, then stepped aside to let his visitor precede +him, at the same time glancing seaward to where the dark flaw of wind +was quickening the water. + +"Heave short," he told the mate. "Get up sail and stand ready to break +out." + +As Grief sat down on the edge of the mate's bunk, close against and +facing the tiny table, he noticed the butt of a revolver just projecting +from under the pillow. On the table, which hung on hinges from the +for'ard bulkhead, were pen and ink, also a battered log-book. + +"Oh, I don't mind being caught in a dirty trick," Griffiths was saying +defiantly. "I've been in the tropics too long. I'm a sick man, a damn +sick man. And the whiskey, and the sun, and the fever have made me sick +in morals, too. Nothing's too mean and low for me now, and I can +understand why the niggers eat each other, and take heads, and such +things. I could do it myself. So I call trying to do you out of that +small account a pretty mild trick. Wisht I could offer you a drink." + +Grief made no reply, and the other busied himself in attempting to +unlock a large and much-dented cash-box. From on deck came falsetto +cries and the creak and rattle of blocks as the black crew swung up +mainsail and driver. Grief watched a large cockroach crawling over the +greasy paintwork. Griffiths, with an oath of irritation, carried the +cash-box to the companion-steps for better light. Here, on his feet, and +bending over the box, his back to his visitor, his hands shot out to +the rifle that stood beside the steps, and at the same moment he whirled +about. + +"Now don't you move a muscle," he commanded. + +Grief smiled, elevated his eyebrows quizzically, and obeyed. His left +hand rested on the bunk beside him; his right hand lay on the table. + +His revolver hung on his right hip in plain sight. But in his mind was +recollection of the other revolver under the pillow. + +"Huh!" Griffiths sneered. "You've got everybody in the Solomons +hypnotized, but let me tell you you ain't got me. Now I'm going to throw +you off my vessel, along with your admiralty warrant, but first you've +got to do something. Lift up that log-book." + +The other glanced curiously at the log-book, but did not move. + +"I tell you I'm a sick man, Grief; and I'd as soon shoot you as smash a +cockroach. Lift up that log-book, I say." + +Sick he did look, his lean face working nervously with the rage that +possessed him. Grief lifted the book and set it aside. Beneath lay a +written sheet of tablet paper. + +"Read it," Griffiths commanded. "Read it aloud." + +Grief obeyed; but while he read, the fingers of his left hand began an +infinitely slow and patient crawl toward the butt of the weapon under +the pillow. + +"On board the ketch Willi-Waw, Bombi Bight, Island of Anna, Solomon +Islands," he read. "Know all men by these presents that I do hereby sign +off and release in full, for due value received, all debts whatsoever +owing to me by Harrison J. Griffiths, who has this day paid to me twelve +hundred pounds sterling." + +"With that receipt in my hands," Griffiths grinned, "your admiralty +warrant's not worth the paper it's written on. Sign it." + +"It won't do any good, Griffiths," Grief said. "A document signed under +compulsion won't hold before the law." + +"In that case, what objection have you to signing it then?" + +"Oh, none at all, only that I might save you heaps of trouble by not +signing it." + +Grief's fingers had gained the revolver, and, while he talked, with his +right hand he played with the pen and with his left began slowly and +imperceptibly drawing the weapon to his side. As his hand finally closed +upon it, second finger on trigger and forefinger laid past the cylinder +and along the barrel, he wondered what luck he would have at left-handed +snap-shooting. + +"Don't consider me," Griffiths gibed. "And just remember Jacobsen will +testify that he saw me pay the money over. Now sign, sign in full, at +the bottom, David Grief, and date it." + +From on deck came the jar of sheet-blocks and the rat-tat-tat of +the reef-points against the canvas. In the cabin they could feel the +_Willi-Waw_ heel, swing into the wind, and right. David Grief still +hesitated. From for'ard came the jerking rattle of headsail halyards +through the sheaves. The little vessel heeled, and through the cabin +walls came the gurgle and wash of water. + +"Get a move on!" Griffiths cried. "The anchor's out." + +The muzzle of the rifle, four feet away, was bearing directly on him, +when Grief resolved to act. The rifle wavered as Griffiths kept his +balance in the uncertain puffs of the first of the wind. Grief took +advantage of the wavering, made as if to sign the paper, and at the same +instant, like a cat, exploded into swift and intricate action. As he +ducked low and leaped forward with his body, his left hand flashed from +under the screen of the table, and so accurately-timed was the single +stiff pull on the self-cocking trigger that the cartridge discharged as +the muzzle came forward. Not a whit behind was Griffiths. The muzzle +of his weapon dropped to meet the ducking body, and, shot at snap +direction, rifle and revolver went off simultaneously. + +Grief felt the sting and sear of a bullet across the skin of his +shoulder, and knew that his own shot had missed. His forward rush +carried him to Griffiths before another shot could be fired, both of +whose arms, still holding the rifle, he locked with a low tackle about +the body. He shoved the revolver muzzle, still in his left hand, deep +into the other's abdomen. Under the press of his anger and the sting of +his abraded skin, Grief's finger was lifting the hammer, when the wave +of anger passed and he recollected himself. Down the companion-way came +indignant cries from the Gooma boys in his canoe. + +Everything was happening in seconds. There was apparently no pause in +his actions as he gathered Griffiths in his arms and carried him up the +steep steps in a sweeping rush. Out into the blinding glare of sunshine +he came. A black stood grinning at the wheel, and the _Willi-Waw_, +heeled over from the wind, was foaming along. Rapidly dropping astern +was his Gooma canoe. Grief turned his head. From amidships, revolver in +hand, the mate was springing toward him. With two jumps, still holding +the helpless Griffiths, Grief leaped to the rail and overboard. + +Both men were grappled together as they went down; but Grief, with +a quick updraw of his knees to the other's chest, broke the grip and +forced him down. With both feet on Griffiths's shoulder, he forced him +still deeper, at the same time driving himself to the surface. Scarcely +had his head broken into the sunshine when two splashes of water, in +quick succession and within a foot of his face, advertised that Jacobsen +knew how to handle a revolver. There was a chance for no third shot, for +Grief, filling his lungs with air, sank down. Under water he struck +out, nor did he come up till he saw the canoe and the bubbling paddles +overhead. As he climbed aboard, the _Wlli-Waw_ went into the wind to +come about. + +"Washee-washee!" Grief cried to his boys. "You fella make-um beach quick +fella time!" + +In all shamelessness, he turned his back on the battle and ran for +cover. The _Willi-Waw_, compelled to deaden way in order to pick up its +captain, gave Grief his chance for a lead. The canoe struck the beach +full-tilt, with every paddle driving, and they leaped out and ran across +the sand for the trees. But before they gained the shelter, three times +the sand kicked into puffs ahead of them. Then they dove into the green +safety of the jungle. + +Grief watched the _Willi-Waw_ haul up close, go out the passage, then +slack its sheets as it headed south with the wind abeam. As it went out +of sight past the point he could see the topsail being broken out. One +of the Gooma boys, a black, nearly fifty years of age, hideously marred +and scarred by skin diseases and old wounds, looked up into his face and +grinned. + +"My word," the boy commented, "that fella skipper too much cross along +you." + +Grief laughed, and led the way back across the sand to the canoe. + + + + +III + +How many millions David Grief was worth no man in the Solomons knew, for +his holdings and ventures were everywhere in the great South Pacific. +From Samoa to New Guinea and even to the north of the Line his +plantations were scattered. He possessed pearling concessions in the +Paumotus. Though his name did not appear, he was in truth the German +company that traded in the French Marquesas. His trading stations were +in strings in all the groups, and his vessels that operated them were +many. He owned atolls so remote and tiny that his smallest schooners and +ketches visited the solitary agents but once a year. + +In Sydney, on Castlereagh Street, his offices occupied three floors. +But he was rarely in those offices. He preferred always to be on the go +amongst the islands, nosing out new investments, inspecting and shaking +up old ones, and rubbing shoulders with fun and adventure in a thousand +strange guises. He bought the wreck of the great steamship _Gavonne_ +for a song, and in salving it achieved the impossible and cleaned up a +quarter of a million. In the Louisiades he planted the first commercial +rubber, and in Bora-Bora he ripped out the South Sea cotton and put the +jolly islanders at the work of planting cacao. It was he who took the +deserted island of Lallu-Ka, colonized it with Polynesians from the +Ontong-Java Atoll, and planted four thousand acres to cocoanuts. And it +was he who reconciled the warring chief-stocks of Tahiti and swung the +great deal of the phosphate island of Hikihu. + +His own vessels recruited his contract labour. They brought Santa +Cruz boys to the New Hebrides, New Hebrides boys to the Banks, and the +head-hunting cannibals of Malaita to the plantations of New Georgia. +From Tonga to the Gilberts and on to the far Louisiades his recruiters +combed the islands for labour. His keels plowed all ocean stretches. He +owned three steamers on regular island runs, though he rarely elected to +travel in them, preferring the wilder and more primitive way of wind and +sail. + +At least forty years of age, he looked no more than thirty. Yet +beachcombers remembered his advent among the islands a score of years +before, at which time the yellow mustache was already budding silkily on +his lip. Unlike other white men in the tropics, he was there because he +liked it. His protective skin pigmentation was excellent. He had +been born to the sun. One he was in ten thousand in the matter of +sun-resistance. The invisible and high-velocity light waves failed to +bore into him. Other white men were pervious. The sun drove through +their skins, ripping and smashing tissues and nerves, till they became +sick in mind and body, tossed most of the Decalogue overboard, descended +to beastliness, drank themselves into quick graves, or survived so +savagely that war vessels were sometimes sent to curb their license. + +But David Grief was a true son of the sun, and he flourished in all its +ways. He merely became browner with the passing of the years, though +in the brown was the hint of golden tint that glows in the skin of the +Polynesian. Yet his blue eyes retained their blue, his mustache its +yellow, and the lines of his face were those which had persisted through +the centuries in his English race. English he was in blood, yet those +that thought they knew contended he was at least American born. Unlike +them, he had not come out to the South Seas seeking hearth and saddle of +his own. In fact, he had brought hearth and saddle with him. His advent +had been in the Paumotus. He arrived on board a tiny schooner yacht, +master and owner, a youth questing romance and adventure along the +sun-washed path of the tropics. He also arrived in a hurricane, the +giant waves of which deposited him and yacht and all in the thick of a +cocoanut grove three hundred yards beyond the surf. Six months later he +was rescued by a pearling cutter. But the sun had got into his blood. +At Tahiti, instead of taking a steamer home, he bought a schooner, +outfitted her with trade-goods and divers, and went for a cruise through +the Dangerous Archipelago. + +As the golden tint burned into his face it poured molten out of the ends +of his fingers. His was the golden touch, but he played the game, not +for the gold, but for the game's sake. It was a man's game, the rough +contacts and fierce give and take of the adventurers of his own blood +and of half the bloods of Europe and the rest of the world, and it was a +good game; but over and beyond was his love of all the other things +that go to make up a South Seas rover's life--the smell of the reef; +the infinite exquisiteness of the shoals of living coral in the +mirror-surfaced lagoons; the crashing sunrises of raw colours spread +with lawless cunning; the palm-tufted islets set in turquoise deeps; +the tonic wine of the trade-winds; the heave and send of the orderly, +crested seas; the moving deck beneath his feet, the straining canvas +overhead; the flower-garlanded, golden-glowing men and maids of +Polynesia, half-children and half-gods; and even the howling savages of +Melanesia, head-hunters and man-eaters, half-devil and all beast. + +And so, favoured child of the sun, out of munificence of energy and +sheer joy of living, he, the man of many millions, forbore on his far +way to play the game with Harrison J. Griffiths for a paltry sum. It was +his whim, his desire, his expression of self and of the sun-warmth that +poured through him. It was fun, a joke, a problem, a bit of play on +which life was lightly hazarded for the joy of the playing. + + + + +IV + +The early morning found the _Wonder_ laying close-hauled along the coast +of Guadalcanal She moved lazily through the water under the dying breath +of the land breeze. To the east, heavy masses of clouds promised a +renewal of the southeast trades, accompanied by sharp puffs and rain +squalls. Ahead, laying along the coast on the same course as the +_Wonder_, and being slowly overtaken, was a small ketch. It was not the +_Willi-Waw_, however, and Captain Ward, on the _Wonder_, putting down +his glasses, named it the _Kauri_. + +Grief, just on deck from below, sighed regretfully. + +"If it had only been the _Willi-Waw_" he said. + +"You do hate to be beaten," Denby, the supercargo, remarked +sympathetically. + +"I certainly do." Grief paused and laughed with genuine mirth. "It's my +firm conviction that Griffiths is a rogue, and that he treated me quite +scurvily yesterday. 'Sign,' he says, 'sign in full, at the bottom, and +date it,' And Jacobsen, the little rat, stood in with him. It was rank +piracy, the days of Bully Hayes all over again." + +"If you weren't my employer, Mr. Grief, I'd like to give you a piece of +my mind," Captain Ward broke in. + +"Go on and spit it out," Grief encouraged. + +"Well, then--" The captain hesitated and cleared his throat. "With all +the money you've got, only a fool would take the risk you did with those +two curs. What do you do it for?" + +"Honestly, I don't know, Captain. I just want to, I suppose. And can you +give any better reason for anything you do?" + +"You'll get your bally head shot off some fine day," Captain Ward +growled in answer, as he stepped to the binnacle and took the bearing +of a peak which had just thrust its head through the clouds that covered +Guadalcanar. + +The land breeze strengthened in a last effort, and the _Wonder_, +slipping swiftly through the water, ranged alongside the _Kauri_ and +began to go by. Greetings flew back and forth, then David Grief called +out: + +"Seen anything of the _Willi-Waw_?" + +The captain, slouch-hatted and barelegged, with a rolling twist hitched +the faded blue _lava-lava_ tighter around his waist and spat tobacco +juice overside. + +"Sure," he answered. "Griffiths lay at Savo last night, taking on pigs +and yams and filling his water-tanks. Looked like he was going for a +long cruise, but he said no. Why? Did you want to see him?" + +"Yes; but if you see him first don't tell him you've seen me." + +The captain nodded and considered, and walked for'ard on his own deck to +keep abreast of the faster vessel. + +"Say!" he called. "Jacobsen told me they were coming down this afternoon +to Gabera. Said they were going to lay there to-night and take on sweet +potatoes." + +"Gabera has the only leading lights in the Solomons," Grief said, when +his schooner had drawn well ahead. "Is that right, Captain Ward?" + +The captain nodded. + +"And the little bight just around the point on this side, it's a rotten +anchorage, isn't it?" + +"No anchorage. All coral patches and shoals, and a bad surf. That's +where the _Molly_ went to pieces three years ago." + +Grief stared straight before him with lustreless eyes for a full minute, +as if summoning some vision to his inner sight. Then the corners of his +eyes wrinkled and the ends of his yellow mustache lifted in a smile. + +"We'll anchor at Gabera," he said. "And run in close to the little bight +this side. I want you to drop me in a whaleboat as you go by. Also, +give me six boys, and serve out rifles. I'll be back on board before +morning." + +The captain's face took on an expression of suspicion, which swiftly +slid into one of reproach. + +"Oh, just a little fun, skipper," Grief protested with the apologetic +air of a schoolboy caught in mischief by an elder. + +Captain Ward grunted, but Denby was all alertness. + +"I'd like to go along, Mr. Grief," he said. + +Grief nodded consent. + +"Bring some axes and bush-knives," he said. "And, oh, by the way, a +couple of bright lanterns. See they've got oil in them." + + + + +V + +An hour before sunset the _Wonder_ tore by the little bight. The wind +had freshened, and a lively sea was beginning to make. The shoals +toward the beach were already white with the churn of water, while those +farther out as yet showed no more sign than of discoloured water. As +the schooner went into the wind and backed her jib and staysail the +whaleboat was swung out. Into it leaped six breech-clouted Santa Cruz +boys, each armed with a rifle. Denby, carrying the lanterns, dropped +into the stern-sheets. Grief, following, paused on the rail. + +"Pray for a dark night, skipper," he pleaded. + +"You'll get it," Captain Ward answered. "There's no moon anyway, and +there won't be any sky. She'll be a bit squally, too." + +The forecast sent a radiance into Grief's face, making more pronounced +the golden tint of his sunburn. He leaped down beside the supercargo. + +"Cast off!" Captain Ward ordered. "Draw the headsails! Put your wheel +over! There! Steady! Take that course!" + +The _Wonder_ filled away and ran on around the point for Gabera, while +the whaleboat, pulling six oars and steered by Grief, headed for the +beach. With superb boatmanship he threaded the narrow, tortuous channel +which no craft larger than a whaleboat could negotiate, until the shoals +and patches showed seaward and they grounded on the quiet, rippling +beach. + +The next hour was filled with work. Moving about among the wild +cocoanuts and jungle brush, Grief selected the trees. + +"Chop this fella tree; chop that fella tree," he told his blacks. "No +chop that other fella," he said, with a shake of head. + +In the end, a wedge-shaped segment of jungle was cleared. Near to the +beach remained one long palm. At the apex of the wedge stood another. +Darkness was falling as the lanterns were lighted, carried up the two +trees, and made fast. + +"That outer lantern is too high." David Grief studied it critically. +"Put it down about ten feet, Denby." + + + + +VI + +The _Willi-Waw_ was tearing through the water with a bone in her teeth, +for the breath of the passing squall was still strong. The blacks were +swinging up the big mainsail, which had been lowered on the run when the +puff was at its height. Jacobsen, superintending the operation, ordered +them to throw the halyards down on deck and stand by, then went for'ard +on the lee-bow and joined Griffiths. Both men stared with wide-strained +eyes at the blank wall of darkness through which they were flying, their +ears tense for the sound of surf on the invisible shore. It was by this +sound that they were for the moment steering. + +The wind fell lighter, the scud of clouds thinned and broke, and in the +dim glimmer of starlight loomed the jungle-clad coast. Ahead, and well +on the lee-bow, appeared a jagged rock-point. Both men strained to it. + +"Amboy Point," Griffiths announced. "Plenty of water close up. Take the +wheel, Jacobsen, till we set a course. Get a move on!" + +Running aft, barefooted and barelegged, the rainwater dripping from his +scant clothing, the mate displaced the black at the wheel. + +"How's she heading?" Griffiths called. + +"South-a-half-west!" + +"Let her come up south-by-west! Got it?" + +"Right on it!" + +Griffiths considered the changed relation of Amboy Point to the +_Willi-Waw_'s course. + +"And a-half-west!" he cried. + +"And a-half-west!" came the answer. "Right on it!" + +"Steady! That'll do!" + +"Steady she is!" Jacobsen turned the wheel over to the savage. "You +steer good fella, savve?" he warned. "No good fella, I knock your damn +black head off." + +Again he went for'ard and joined the other, and again the cloud-scud +thickened, the star-glimmer vanished, and the wind rose and screamed in +another squall. + +"Watch that mainsail!" Griffiths yelled in the mate's ear, at the same +time studying the ketch's behaviour. + +Over she pressed, and lee-rail under, while he measured the weight of +the wind and quested its easement. The tepid sea-water, with here and +there tiny globules of phosphorescence, washed about his ankles and +knees. The wind screamed a higher note, and every shroud and stay +sharply chorused an answer as the _Willi-Waw_ pressed farther over and +down. + +"Down mainsail!" Griffiths yelled, springing to the peak-halyards, +thrusting away the black who held on, and casting off the turn. + +Jacobsen, at the throat-halyards, was performing the like office. The +big sail rattled down, and the blacks, with shouts and yells, threw +themselves on the battling canvas. The mate, finding one skulking in the +darkness, flung his bunched knuckles into the creature's face and drove +him to his work. + +The squall held at its high pitch, and under her small canvas the +_Willi-Waw_ still foamed along. Again the two men stood for'ard and +vainly watched in the horizontal drive of rain. + +"We're all right," Griffiths said. "This rain won't last. We can hold +this course till we pick up the lights. Anchor in thirteen fathoms. +You'd better overhaul forty-five on a night like this. After that get +the gaskets on the mainsail. We won't need it." + +Half an hour afterward his weary eyes were rewarded by a glimpse of two +lights. + +"There they are, Jacobsen. I'll take the wheel. Run down the +fore-staysail and stand by to let go. Make the niggers jump." + +Aft, the spokes of the wheel in his hands, Griffiths held the course +till the two lights came in line, when he abruptly altered and headed +directly in for them. He heard the tumble and roar of the surf, but +decided it was farther away--as it should be, at Gabera. + +He heard the frightened cry of the mate, and was grinding the wheel down +with all his might, when the _Willi-Waw_ struck. At the same instant +her mainmast crashed over the bow. Five wild minutes followed. All hands +held on while the hull upheaved and smashed down on the brittle +coral and the warm seas swept over them. Grinding and crunching, the +_Willi-Waw_ worked itself clear over the shoal patch and came solidly to +rest in the comparatively smooth and shallow channel beyond. + +Griffiths sat down on the edge of the cabin, head bowed on chest, in +silent wrath and bitterness. Once he lifted his face to glare at the two +white lights, one above the other and perfectly in line. + +"There they are," he said. "And this isn't Gabera. Then what the hell is +it?" + +Though the surf still roared and across the shoal flung its spray +and upper wash over them, the wind died down and the stars came out. +Shoreward came the sound of oars. + +"What have you had?--an earthquake?" Griffiths called out. "The bottom's +all changed. I've anchored here a hundred times in thirteen fathoms. Is +that you, Wilson?" + +A whaleboat came alongside, and a man climbed over the rail. In the +faint light Griffiths found an automatic Colt's thrust into his face, +and, looking up, saw David Grief. + +"No, you never anchored here before," Grief laughed. "Gabera's just +around the point, where I'll be as soon as I've collected that little +sum of twelve hundred pounds. We won't bother for the receipt. I've your +note here, and I'll just return it." + +"You did this!" Griffiths cried, springing to his feet in a sudden gust +of rage. "You faked those leading lights! You've wrecked me, and by--" + +"Steady! Steady!" Grief's voice was cool and menacing. "I'll trouble you +for that twelve hundred, please." + +To Griffiths, a vast impotence seemed to descend upon him. He was +overwhelmed by a profound disgust--disgust for the sunlands and the +sun-sickness, for the futility of all his endeavour, for this blue-eyed, +golden-tinted, superior man who defeated him on all his ways. + +"Jacobsen," he said, "will you open the cash-box and pay this--this +bloodsucker--twelve hundred pounds?" + + + + + +Chapter Two--THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS PANKBURN + + + + +I + +Quick eye that he had for the promise of adventure, prepared always for +the unexpected to leap out at him from behind the nearest cocoanut +tree, nevertheless David Grief received no warning when he laid eyes on +Aloysius Pankburn. It was on the little steamer _Berthe_. Leaving his +schooner to follow, Grief had taken passage for the short run across +from Raiatea to Papeete. When he first saw Aloysius Pankburn, that +somewhat fuddled gentleman was drinking a lonely cocktail at the tiny +bar between decks next to the barber shop. And when Grief left the +barber's hands half an hour later Aloysius Pankburn was still hanging +over the bar still drinking by himself. + +Now it is not good for man to drink alone, and Grief threw sharp +scrutiny into his pass-ing glance. He saw a well-built young man of +thirty, well-featured, well-dressed, and evidently, in the world's +catalogue, a gentleman. But in the faint hint of slovenliness, in +the shaking, eager hand that spilled the liquor, and in the nervous, +vacillating eyes, Grief read the unmistakable marks of the chronic +alcoholic. + +After dinner he chanced upon Pankburn again. This time it was on deck, +and the young man, clinging to the rail and peering into the distance +at the dim forms of a man and woman in two steamer chairs drawn closely +together, was crying, drunkenly. Grief noted that the man's arm was +around the woman's waist. Aloysius Pankburn looked on and cried. + +"Nothing to weep about," Grief said genially. + +Pankburn looked at him, and gushed tears of profound self-pity. + +"It's hard," he sobbed. "Hard. Hard. That man's my business manager. I +employ him. I pay him a good screw. And that's how he earns it." + +"In that case, why don't you put a stop to it?" Grief advised. + +"I can't. She'd shut off my whiskey. She's my trained nurse." + +"Fire _her_, then, and drink your head off." + +"I can't. He's got all my money. If I did, he wouldn't give me sixpence +to buy a drink with." + +This woful possibility brought a fresh wash of tears. Grief was +interested. Of all unique situations he could never have imagined such a +one as this. + +"They were engaged to take care of me," Pankburn was blubbering, "to +keep me away from the drink. And that's the way they do it, lollygagging +all about the ship and letting me drink myself to death. It isn't right, +I tell you. It isn't right. They were sent along with me for the express +purpose of not letting me drink, and they let me drink to swinishness +as long as I leave them alone. If I complain they threaten not to let me +have another drop. What can a poor devil do? My death will be on their +heads, that's all. Come on down and join me." + +He released his clutch on the rail, and would have fallen had Grief +not caught his arm. He seemed to undergo a transformation, to stiffen +physically, to thrust his chin forward aggressively, and to glint +harshly in his eyes. + +"I won't let them kill me. And they'll be sorry. I've offered them fifty +thousand--later on, of course. They laughed. They don't know. But I +know." He fumbled in his coat pocket and drew forth an object that +flashed in the faint light. "They don't know the meaning of that. But I +do." He looked at Grief with abrupt suspicion. "What do you make out of +it, eh? What do you make out of it?" + +David Grief caught a swift vision of an alcoholic degenerate putting +a very loving young couple to death with a copper spike, for a +copper spike was what he held in his hand, an evident old-fashioned +ship-fastening. + +"My mother thinks I'm up here to get cured of the booze habit. She +doesn't know. I bribed the doctor to prescribe a voyage. When we get to +Papeete my manager is going to charter a schooner and away we'll sail. +But they don't dream. They think it's the booze. I know. I only know. +Good night, sir. I'm going to bed--unless--er--you'll join me in a night +cap. One last drink, you know." + + + + +II + +In the week that followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarre +glimpses of Aloysius Pankburn. So did everybody else in the little +island capital; for neither the beach nor Lavina's boarding house +had been so scandalized in years. In midday, bareheaded, clad only +in swimming trunks, Aloysius Pankburn ran down the main street from +Lavina's to the water front. He put on the gloves with a fireman from +the _Berthe_ in a scheduled four-round bout at the _Folies Bergres_, +and was knocked out in the second round. He tried insanely to drown +himself in a two-foot pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly from +fifty feet up in the rigging of the _Mariposa_ lying at the wharf, and +chartered the cutter _Toerau_ at more than her purchase price and was +only saved by his manager's refusal financially to ratify the agreement. +He bought out the old blind leper at the market, and sold breadfruit, +plantains, and sweet potatoes at such cut-rates that the gendarmes +were called out to break the rush of bargain-hunting natives. For that +matter, three times the gendarmes arrested him for riotous behaviour, +and three times his manager ceased from love-making long enough to pay +the fines imposed by a needy colonial administration. + +Then the _Mariposa_ sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suite +were the manager and the trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing, +the manager had thoughtfully bestowed eight five-pound banknotes on +Aloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloysius awoke several days +later to find himself broke and perilously near to delirium tremens. +Lavina, famed for her good heart even among the driftage of South +Pacific rogues and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filter +into his returning intelligence that there was neither manager nor money +to pay his board. + +It was several evenings after this that David Grief, lounging under +the after deck awning of the _Kittiwake_ and idly scanning the meagre +columns of the Papeete _Avant-Coureur_, sat suddenly up and almost +rubbed his eyes. It was unbelievable, but there it was. The old South +Seas Romance was not dead. He read: + + WANTED--To exchange a half interest in buried treasure, + worth five million francs, for transportation for one to an + unknown island in the Pacific and facilities for carrying + away the loot. Ask for FOLLY, at Lavina's. + +Grief looked at his watch. It was early yet, only eight o'clock. + +"Mr. Carlsen," he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. "Get the +crew for the whale-boat. I'm going ashore." + +The husky voice of the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half a +dozen strapping Rapa Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat. + +"I came to see Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine," David Grief told Lavina. + +He noted the quick interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flung +a command in native across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. A +few minutes later a barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head. + +Lavina's disappointment was evident. + +"You're stopping aboard the _Kittiwake_, aren't you?" she said. "I'll +tell him you called." + +"Then it is a _he?_" Grief queried. + +Lavina nodded. + +"I hope you can do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only a +good-natured woman. I don't know. But he's a likable man, and he may be +telling the truth; I don't know. You'll know. You're not a soft-hearted +fool like me. Can't I mix you a cocktail?" + + + + +III + +Back on board his schooner and dozing in a deck chair under a +three-months-old magazine, David Grief was aroused by a sobbing, +slubbering noise from overside. He opened his eyes. From the Chilian +cruiser, a quarter of a mile away, came the stroke of eight bells. It +was midnight. From overside came a splash and another slubbering noise. +To him it seemed half amphibian, half the sounds of a man crying to +himself and querulously chanting his sorrows to the general universe. + +A jump took David Grief to the low rail. Beneath, centred about the +slubbering noise, was an area of agitated phosphorescence. Leaning over, +he locked his hand under the armpit of a man, and, with pull and heave +and quick-changing grips, he drew on deck the naked form of Aloysius +Pankburn. + +"I didn't have a sou-markee," he complained. "I had to swim it, and I +couldn't find your gangway. It was very miserable. Pardon me. If you +have a towel to put about my middle, and a good stiff drink, I'll be +more myself. I'm Mr. Folly, and you're the Captain Grief, I presume, +who called on me when I was out. No, I'm not drunk. Nor am I cold. This +isn't shivering. Lavina allowed me only two drinks to-day. I'm on the +edge of the horrors, that's all, and I was beginning to see things +when I couldn't find the gangway. If you'll take me below I'll be very +grateful. You are the only one that answered my advertisement." + +He was shaking pitiably in the warm night, and down in the cabin, before +he got his towel, Grief saw to it that a half-tumbler of whiskey was in +his hand. + +"Now fire ahead," Grief said, when he had got his guest into a shirt +and a pair of duck trousers. "What's this advertisement of yours? I'm +listening." + +Pankburn looked at the whiskey bottle, but Grief shook his head. + +"All right, Captain, though I tell you on whatever is left of my honour +that I am not drunk--not in the least. Also, what I shall tell you is +true, and I shall tell it briefly, for it is clear to me that you are +a man of affairs and action. Likewise, your chemistry is good. To you +alcohol has never been a million maggots gnawing at every cell of you. +You've never been to hell. I am there now. I am scorching. Now listen. + +"My mother is alive. She is English. I was born in Australia. I +was educated at York and Yale. I am a master of arts, a doctor of +philosophy, and I am no good. Furthermore, I am an alcoholic. I have +been an athlete. I used to swan-dive a hundred and ten feet in the +clear. I hold several amateur records. I am a fish. I learned the +crawl-stroke from the first of the Cavilles. I have done thirty miles +in a rough sea. I have another record. I have punished more whiskey than +any man of my years. I will steal sixpence from you for the price of a +drink. Finally, I will tell you the truth. + +"My father was an American--an Annapolis man. He was a midshipman in the +War of the Rebellion. In '66 he was a lieutenant on the _Suwanee_. Her +captain was Paul Shirley. In '66 the Suwanee coaled at an island in the +Pacific which I do not care to mention, under a protectorate which did +not exist then and which shall be nameless. Ashore, behind the bar of a +public house, my father saw three copper spikes--ship's spikes." + +David Grief smiled quietly. + +"And now I can tell you the name of the coaling station and of the +protectorate that came afterward," he said. + +"And of the three spikes?" Pankburn asked with equal quietness. "Go +ahead, for they are in my possession now." + +"Certainly. They were behind German Oscar's bar at Peenoo-Peenee. Johnny +Black brought them there from off his schooner the night he died. He was +just back from a long cruise to the westward, fishing beche-de-mer and +sandalwood trading. All the beach knows the tale." + +Pankburn shook his head. + +"Go on," he urged. + +"It was before my time, of course," Grief explained. "I only tell what +I've heard. Next came the Ecuadoran cruiser, of all directions, in from +the westward, and bound home. Her officers recognized the spikes. Johnny +Black was dead. They got hold of his mate and logbook. Away to the +westward went she. Six months after, again bound home, she dropped in at +Peenoo-Peenee. She had failed, and the tale leaked out." + +"When the revolutionists were marching on Guayaquil," Pankburn took it +up, "the federal officers, believing a defence of the city hopeless, +salted down the government treasure chest, something like a million +dollars gold, but all in English coinage, and put it on board the +American schooner _Flirt_. They were going to run at daylight. The +American captain skinned out in the middle of the night. Go on." + +"It's an old story," Grief resumed. "There was no other vessel in the +harbour. The federal leaders couldn't run. They put their backs to the +wall and held the city. Rohjas Salced, making a forced march from Quito, +raised the siege. The revolution was broken, and the one ancient steamer +that constituted the Ecuadoran navy was sent in pursuit of the _Flirt_. +They caught her, between the Banks Group and the New Hebrides, hove +to and flying distress signals. The captain had died the day +before--blackwater fever." + +"And the mate?" Pankburn challenged. + +"The mate had been killed a week earlier by the natives on one of the +Banks, when they sent a boat in for water. There were no navigators +left. The men were put to the torture. It was beyond international law. +They wanted to confess, but couldn't. They told of the three spikes in +the trees on the beach, but where the island was they did not know. To +the westward, far to the westward, was all they knew. The tale now goes +two ways. One is that they all died under the torture. The other is that +the survivors were swung at the yardarm. At any rate, the Ecuadoran +cruiser went home without the treasure. Johnny Black brought the three +spikes to Peenoo-Peenee, and left them at German Oscar's, but how and +where he found them he never told." + +Pankburn looked hard at the whiskey bottle. + +"Just two fingers," he whimpered. + +Grief considered, and poured a meagre drink. Pankburn's eyes sparkled, +and he took new lease of life. + +"And this is where I come in with the missing details," he said. "Johnny +Black did tell. He told my father. Wrote him from Levuka, before he came +on to die at Peenoo-Peenee. My father had saved his life one rough-house +night in Valparaiso. A Chink pearler, out of Thursday Island, +prospecting for new grounds to the north of New Guinea, traded for the +three spikes with a nigger. Johnny Black bought them for copper weight. +He didn't dream any more than the Chink, but coming back he stopped for +hawksbill turtle at the very beach where you say the mate of the +_Flirt_ was killed. Only he wasn't killed. The Banks Islanders held +him prisoner, and he was dying of necrosis of the jawbone, caused by an +arrow wound in the fight on the beach. Before he died he told the yarn +to Johnny Black. Johnny Black wrote my father from Levuka. He was at the +end of his rope--cancer. My father, ten years afterward, when captain of +the _Perry_, got the spikes from German Oscar. And from my father, last +will and testament, you know, came the spikes and the data. I have the +island, the latitude and longitude of the beach where the three spikes +were nailed in the trees. The spikes are up at Lavina's now. The +latitude and longitude are in my head. Now what do you think?" + +"Fishy," was Grief's instant judgment. "Why didn't your father go and +get it himself?" + +"Didn't need it. An uncle died and left him a fortune. He retired from +the navy, ran foul of an epidemic of trained nurses in Boston, and my +mother got a divorce. Also, she fell heir to an income of something like +thirty thousand dollars, and went to live in New Zealand. I was divided +between them, half-time New Zealand, half-time United States, until my +father's death last year. Now my mother has me altogether. He left me +his money--oh, a couple of millions--but my mother has had guardians +appointed on account of the drink. I'm worth all kinds of money, but I +can't touch a penny save what is doled out to me. But the old man, who +had got the tip on my drinking, left me the three spikes and the data +thereunto pertaining. Did it through his lawyers, unknown to my mother; +said it beat life insurance, and that if I had the backbone to go and +get it I could drink my back teeth awash until I died. Millions in the +hands of my guardians, slathers of shekels of my mother's that'll be +mine if she beats me to the crematory, another million waiting to be dug +up, and in the meantime I'm cadging on Lavina for two drinks a day. It's +hell, isn't it?--when you consider my thirst." + +"Where's the island?" + +"It's a long way from here." + +"Name it." + +"Not on your life, Captain Grief. You're making an easy half-million out +of this. You will sail under my directions, and when we're well to sea +and on our way I'll tell you and not before." + +Grief shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the subject. + +"When I've given you another drink I'll send the boat ashore with you," +he said. + +Pankburn was taken aback. For at least five minutes he debated with +himself, then licked his lips and surrendered. + +"If you promise to go, I'll tell you now." + +"Of course I'm willing to go. That's why I asked you. Name the island." + +Pankburn looked at the bottle. + +"I'll take that drink now, Captain." + +"No you won't. That drink was for you if you went ashore. If you are +going to tell me the island, you must do it in your sober senses." + +"Francis Island, if you will have it. Bougainville named it Barbour +Island." + +"Off there all by its lonely in the Little Coral Sea," Grief said. "I +know it. Lies between New Ireland and New Guinea. A rotten hole now, +though it was all right when the _Flirt_ drove in the spikes and the +Chink pearler traded for them. The steamship _Castor_, recruiting labour +for the Upolu plantations, was cut off there with all hands two years +ago. I knew her captain well. The Germans sent a cruiser, shelled the +bush, burned half a dozen villages, killed a couple of niggers and a lot +of pigs, and--and that was all. The niggers always were bad there, but +they turned really bad forty years ago. That was when they cut off a +whaler. Let me see? What was her name?" + +He stepped to the bookshelf, drew out the bulky "South Pacific +Directory," and ran through its pages. + +"Yes. Here it is. Francis, or Barbour," he skimmed. "Natives warlike and +treacherous--Melanesian--cannibals. Whaleship _Western_ cut off--that +was her name. Shoals--points--anchorages--ah, Redscar, Owen Bay, +Likikili Bay, that's more like it; deep indentation, mangrove +swamps, good holding in nine fathoms when white scar in bluff bears +west-southwest." Grief looked up. "That's your beach, Pankburn, I'll +swear." + +"Will you go?" the other demanded eagerly. + +Grief nodded. + +"It sounds good to me. Now if the story had been of a hundred millions, +or some such crazy sum, I wouldn't look at it for a moment. We'll sail +to-morrow, but under one consideration. You are to be absolutely under +my orders." + +His visitor nodded emphatically and joyously. + +"And that means no drink." + +"That's pretty hard," Pankburn whined. + +"It's my terms. I'm enough of a doctor to see you don't come to harm. +And you are to work--hard work, sailor's work. You'll stand regular +watches and everything, though you eat and sleep aft with us." + +"It's a go." Pankburn put out his hand to ratify the agreement. "If it +doesn't kill me," he added. + +David Grief poured a generous three-fingers into the tumbler and +extended it. + +"Then here's your last drink. Take it." + +Pankburn's hand went halfway out. With a sudden spasm of resolution, he +hesitated, threw back his shoulders, and straightened up his head. + +"I guess I won't," he began, then, feebly surrendering to the gnaw of +desire, he reached hastily for the glass, as if in fear that it would be +withdrawn. + + + + +IV + +It is a long traverse from Papeete in the Societies to the Little Coral +Sea--from 100 west longitude to 150 east longitude--as the crow flies +the equivalent to a voyage across the Atlantic. But the _Kittiwake_ did +not go as the crow flies. David Grief's numerous interests diverted +her course many times. He stopped to take a look-in at uninhabited Rose +Island with an eye to colonizing and planting cocoa-nuts. Next, he paid +his respects to Tui Manua, of Eastern Samoa, and opened an intrigue for +a share of the trade monopoly of that dying king's three islands. From +Apia he carried several relief agents and a load of trade goods to the +Gilberts. He peeped in at Ontong-Java Atoll, inspected his plantations +on Ysabel, and purchased lands from the salt-water chiefs of +northwestern Malaita. And all along this devious way he made a man of +Aloysius Pankburn. + +That thirster, though he lived aft, was compelled to do the work of a +common sailor. And not only did he take his wheel and lookout, and heave +on sheets and tackles, but the dirtiest and most arduous tasks were +appointed him. Swung aloft in a bosun's chair, he scraped the masts and +slushed down. Holystoning the deck or scrubbing it with fresh limes +made his back ache and developed the wasted, flabby muscles. When +the _Kittiwake_ lay at anchor and her copper bottom was scrubbed with +cocoa-nut husks by the native crew, who dived and did it under water, +Pankburn was sent down on his shift and as many times as any on the +shift. + +"Look at yourself," Grief said. "You are twice the man you were when you +came on board. You haven't had one drink, you didn't die, and the poison +is pretty well worked out of you. It's the work. It beats trained nurses +and business managers. Here, if you're thirsty. Clap your lips to this." + +With several deft strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Grief +clipped a triangular piece of shell from the end of a husked +drinking-cocoa-nut. The thin, cool liquid, slightly milky and +effervescent, bubbled to the brim. With a bow, Pankburn took the natural +cup, threw his head back, and held it back till the shell was empty. He +drank many of these nuts each day. The black steward, a New Hebrides boy +sixty years of age, and his assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw to +it that he was continually supplied. + +Pankburn did not object to the hard work. He devoured work, never +shirking and always beating the native sailors in jumping to obey a +command. But his sufferings during the period of driving the alcohol out +of his system were truly heroic. Even when the last shred of the poison +was exuded, the desire, as an obsession, remained in his head. So it +was, when, on his honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he attempted to +put the public houses out of business by drinking up their stocks in +trade. And so it was, at two in the morning, that David Grief found him +in front of the Tivoli, out of which he had been disorderly thrown by +Charley Roberts. Aloysius, as of old, was chanting his sorrows to the +stars. Also, and more concretely, he was punctuating the rhythm with +cobbles of coral stone, which he flung with amazing accuracy through +Charley Roberts's windows. + +David Grief took him away, but not till next morning did he take him +in hand. It was on the deck of the _Kittiwake_, and there was nothing +kindergarten about it. Grief struck him, with bare knuckles, punched him +and punished him--gave him the worst thrashing he had ever received. + +"For the good of your soul, Pankburn," was the way he emphasized his +blows. "For the good of your mother. For the progeny that will come +after. For the good of the world, and the universe, and the whole race +of man yet to be. And now, to hammer the lesson home, we'll do it all +over again. That, for the good of your soul; and that, for your mother's +sake; and that, for the little children, undreamed of and unborn, whose +mother you'll love for their sakes, and for love's sake, in the lease +of manhood that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on and take +your medicine. I'm not done with you yet. I've only begun. There are +many other reasons which I shall now proceed to expound." The brown +sailors and the black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far from +them was the questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensible +ways of white men. As for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accord +with the treatment his employer was administering; while Albright, the +supercargo, merely played with his mustache and smiled. They were men +of the sea. They lived life in the rough. And alcohol, in themselves as +well as in other men, was a problem they had learned to handle in ways +not taught in doctors' schools. + +"Boy! A bucket of fresh water and a towel," Grief ordered, when he had +finished. "Two buckets and two towels," he added, as he surveyed his own +hands. + +"You're a pretty one," he said to Pankburn. "You've spoiled everything. +I had the poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reeking +with it. We've got to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know that +pile of old chain on the beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buy +it, and fetch it on board. There must be a hundred and fifty fathoms of +it. Pankburn! To-morrow morning you start in pounding the rust off of +it. When you've done that, you'll sandpaper it. Then you'll paint it. +And nothing else will you do till that chain is as smooth as new." + +Aloysius Pankburn shook his head. + +"I quit. Francis Island can go to hell for all of me. I'm done with your +slave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. I'm a white man. You can't +treat me this way." + +"Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board." + +"I'll have you broken for this!" Aloysius screamed. "You can't stop me." + +"I can give you another licking," Grief answered. "And let me tell you +one thing, you besotted whelp, I'll keep on licking you as long as my +knuckles hold out or until you yearn to hammer chain rust. I've taken +you in hand, and I'm going to make a man out of you if I have to kill +you to do it. Now go below and change your clothes. Be ready to turn +to with a hammer this afternoon. Mr. Albright, get that chain aboard +pronto. Mr. Carlsen, send the boats ashore after it. Also, keep your eye +on Pankburn. If he shows signs of keeling over or going into the shakes, +give him a nip--a small one. He may need it after last night." + + + + +V + +For the rest of the time the _Kittiwake_ lay in Apia Aloysius Pankburn +pounded chain rust. Ten hours a day he pounded. And on the long stretch +across to the Gilberts he still pounded. + +Then came the sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is nine +hundred feet, and every link of all that length was smoothed and +polished as no link ever was before. And when the last link had received +its second coat of black paint, he declared himself. + +"Come on with more dirty work," he told Grief. "I'll overhaul the other +chains if you say so. And you needn't worry about me any more. I'm not +going to take another drop. I'm going to train up. You got my proud +goat when you beat me, but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily. +Train! I'm going to train till I'm as hard all the way through, and +clean all the way through, as that chain is. And some day, Mister David +Grief, somewhere, somehow, I'm going to be in such shape that I'll lick +you as you licked me. I'm going to pulp your face till your own niggers +won't know you." + +Grief was jubilant. + +"Now you're talking like a man," he cried. "The only way you'll ever +lick me is to become a man. And then, maybe--" + +He paused in the hope that the other would catch the suggestion. +Aloysius groped for it, and, abruptly, something akin to illumination +shone in his eyes. + +"And then I won't want to, you mean?" + +Grief nodded. + +"And that's the curse of it," Aloysius lamented. "I really believe I +won't want to. I see the point. But I'm going to go right on and shape +myself up just the same." + +The warm, sunburn glow in Grief's face seemed to grow warmer. His hand +went out. + +"Pankburn, I love you right now for that." + +Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity. + +"Grief," he mourned, "you've got my goat, you've got my proud goat, and +you've got it permanently, I'm afraid." + + + + +VI + +On a sultry tropic day, when the last flicker of the far southeast trade +was fading out and the seasonal change for the northwest monsoon was +coming on, the _Kittiwake_ lifted above the sea-rim the jungle-clad +coast of Francis Island. + +Grief, with compass bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano that +marked Redscar, ran past Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze at +the entrance to Likikili Bay. With the two whaleboats out and towing, +and with Carl-sen heaving the lead, the _Kittiwake_ sluggishly entered a +deep and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The mangroves began +at the water's edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, broken here and +there by jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white scar +on the bluff bore west-southwest, the lead vindicated the "Directory," +and the anchor rumbled down in nine fathoms. + +For the rest of that day and until the afternoon of the day following +they remained on the _Kittiwake_ and waited. No canoes appeared. There +were no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish or +the screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, a +huge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over their +mastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle. + +"There's no use in sending a boat in to be cut up," Grief said. + +Pankburn was incredulous, and volunteered to go in alone, to swim it if +he couldn't borrow the dingey. + +"They haven't forgotten the German cruiser," Grief explained. "And I'll +wager that bush is alive with men right now. What do you think, Mr. +Carlsen?" + +That veteran adventurer of the islands was emphatic in his agreement. + +In the late afternoon of the second day Grief ordered a whaleboat into +the water. He took his place in the bow, a live cigarette in his mouth +and a short-fused stick of dynamite in his hand, for he was bent on +shooting a mess of fish. Along the thwarts half a dozen Winchesters were +placed. Albright, who took the steering-sweep, had a Mauser within reach +of hand. They pulled in and along the green wall of vegetation. At times +they rested on the oars in the midst of a profound silence. + +"Two to one the bush is swarming with them--in quids," Albright +whispered. + +Pankburn listened a moment longer and took the bet. Five minutes later +they sighted a school of mullet. The brown rowers held their oars. Grief +touched the short fuse to his cigarette and threw the stick. So short +was the fuse that the stick exploded in the instant after it struck the +water. And in that same instant the bush exploded into life. There were +wild yells of defiance, and black and naked bodies leaped forward like +apes through the mangroves. + +In the whaleboat every rifle was lifted. Then came the wait. A hundred +blacks, some few armed with ancient Sniders, but the greater portion +armed with tomahawks, fire-hardened spears, and bone-tipped arrows, +clustered on the roots that rose out of the bay. No word was spoken. +Each party watched the other across twenty feet of water. An old, +one-eyed black, with a bristly face, rested a Snider on his hip, the +muzzle directed at Albright, who, in turn, covered him back with the +Mauser. A couple of minutes of this tableau endured. The stricken fish +rose to the surface or struggled half-stunned in the clear depths. + +"It's all right, boys," Grief said quietly. "Put down your guns and +over the side with you. Mr. Albright, toss the tobacco to that one-eyed +brute." + +While the Rapa men dived for the fish, Albright threw a bundle of +trade tobacco ashore. The one-eyed man nodded his head and writhed his +features in an attempt at amiability. Weapons were lowered, bows unbent, +and arrows put back in their quivers. + +"They know tobacco," Grief announced, as they rowed back aboard. "We'll +have visitors. You'll break out a case of tobacco, Mr. Albright, and a +few trade-knives. There's a canoe now." + +Old One-Eye, as befitted a chief and leader, paddled out alone, facing +peril for the rest of the tribe. As Carlsen leaned over the rail to help +the visitor up, he turned his head and remarked casually: + +"They've dug up the money, Mr. Grief. The old beggar's loaded with it." + +One-Eye floundered down on deck, grinning appeasingly and failing to +hide the fear he had overcome but which still possessed him. He was lame +of one leg, and this was accounted for by a terrible scar, inches deep, +which ran down the thigh from hip to knee. No clothes he wore whatever, +not even a string, but his nose, perforated in a dozen places and each +perforation the setting for a carved spine of bone, bristled like a +porcupine. Around his neck and hanging down on his dirty chest was a +string of gold sovereigns. His ears were hung with silver half-crowns, +and from the cartilage separating his nostrils depended a big English +penny, tarnished and green, but unmistakable. + +"Hold on, Grief," Pankburn said, with perfectly assumed carelessness. +"You say they know only beads and tobacco. Very well. You follow my +lead. They've found the treasure, and we've got to trade them out of it. +Get the whole crew aside and lecture them that they are to be interested +only in the pennies. Savve? Gold coins must be beneath contempt, and +silver coins merely tolerated. Pennies are to be the only desirable +things." + +Pankburn took charge of the trading. For the penny in One-Eye's nose he +gave ten sticks of tobacco. Since each stick cost David Grief a cent, +the bargain was manifestly unfair. But for the half-crowns Pankburn gave +only one stick each. The string of sovereigns he refused to consider. +The more he refused, the more One-Eye insisted on a trade. At last, with +an appearance of irritation and anger, and as a palpable concession, +Pankburn gave two sticks for the string, which was composed of ten +sovereigns. + +"I take my hat off to you," Grief said to Pankburn that night at dinner. +"The situation is patent. You've reversed the scale of value. They'll +figure the pennies as priceless possessions and the sovereigns as +beneath price. Result: they'll hang on to the pennies and force us to +trade for sovereigns. Pankburn, I drink your health! Boy!--another cup +of tea for Mr. Pankburn." + + + + +VII + +Followed a golden week. From dawn till dark a row of canoes rested +on their paddles two hundred feet away. This was the deadline. Rapa +sailors, armed with rifles, maintained it. But one canoe at a time was +permitted alongside, and but one black at a time was permitted to come +over the rail. Here, under the awning, relieving one another in hourly +shifts, the four white men carried on the trade. The rate of exchange +was that established by Pankburn with One-Eye. Five sovereigns fetched +a stick of tobacco; a hundred sovereigns, twenty sticks. Thus, a +crafty-eyed cannibal would deposit on the table a thousand dollars in +gold, and go back over the rail, hugely-satisfied, with forty cents' +worth of tobacco in his hand. + +"Hope we've got enough tobacco to hold out," Carlsen muttered dubiously, +as another case was sawed in half. + +Albright laughed. + +"We've got fifty cases below," he said, "and as I figure it, three cases +buy a hundred thousand dollars. There was only a million dollars buried, +so thirty cases ought to get it. Though, of course, we've got to allow +a margin for the silver and the pennies. That Ecuadoran bunch must have +salted down all the coin in sight." + +Very few pennies and shillings appeared, though Pankburn continually and +anxiously inquired for them. Pennies were the one thing he seemed to +desire, and he made his eyes flash covetously whenever one was produced. +True to his theory, the savages concluded that the gold, being of slight +value, must be disposed of first. A penny, worth fifty times as much as +a sovereign, was something to retain and treasure. Doubtless, in their +jungle-lairs, the wise old gray-beards put their heads together and +agreed to raise the price on pennies when the worthless gold was all +worked off. Who could tell? Mayhap the strange white men could be made +to give even twenty sticks for a priceless copper. + +By the end of the week the trade went slack. There was only the +slightest dribble of gold. An occasional penny was reluctantly disposed +of for ten sticks, while several thousand dollars in silver came in. + +On the morning of the eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beards +had matured their plan and were demanding twenty sticks for a penny, +One-Eye delivered the new rate of exchange. The white men appeared to +take it with great seriousness, for they stood together debating in low +voices. Had One-Eye understood English he would have been enlightened. + +"We've got just a little over eight hundred thousand, not counting the +silver," Grief said. "And that's about all there is. The bush tribes +behind have most probably got the other two hundred thousand. Return +in three months, and the salt-water crowd will have traded back for it; +also they will be out of tobacco by that time." + +"It would be a sin to buy pennies," Albright grinned. "It goes against +the thrifty grain of my trader's soul." + +"There's a whiff of land-breeze stirring," Grief said, looking at +Pankburn. "What do you say?" + +Pankburn nodded. + +"Very well." Grief measured the faintness and irregularity of the wind +against his cheek. + +"Mr. Carlsen, heave short, and get off the gaskets. And stand by with +the whaleboats to tow. This breeze is not dependable." + +He picked up a part case of tobacco, containing six or seven hundred +sticks, put it in One-Eye's hands, and helped that bewildered savage +over the rail. As the foresail went up the mast, a wail of consternation +arose from the canoes lying along the dead-line. And as the anchor +broke out and the _Kittiwake's_ head paid off in the light breeze, old +One-Eye, daring the rifles levelled on him, paddled alongside and +made frantic signs of his tribe's willingness to trade pennies for ten +sticks. + +"Boy!--a drinking nut," Pankburn called. + +"It's Sydney Heads for you," Grief said. "And then what?" + +"I'm coming back with you for that two hundred thousand," Pankburn +answered. "In the meantime I'm going to build an island schooner. Also, +I'm going to call those guardians of mine before the court to show cause +why my father's money should not be turned over to me. Show cause? I'll +show them cause why it should." + +He swelled his biceps proudly under the thin sleeve, reached for the two +black stewards, and put them above his head like a pair of dumbbells. + +"Come on! Swing out on that fore-boom-tackle!" Carlsen shouted from aft, +where the mainsail was being winged out. + +Pankburn dropped the stewards and raced for it, beating a Rapa sailor by +two jumps to the hauling part. + + + + +Chapter Three--THE DEVILS OF FUATINO + + + + +I + +Of his many schooners, ketches and cutters that nosed about among the +coral isles of the South Seas, David Grief loved most the _Rattler_--a +yacht-like schooner of ninety tons with so swift a pair of heels that +she had made herself famous, in the old days, opium-smuggling from San +Diego to Puget Sound, raiding the seal-rookeries of Bering Sea, and +running arms in the Far East. A stench and an abomination to government +officials, she had been the joy of all sailormen, and the pride of the +shipwrights who built her. Even now, after forty years of driving, she +was still the same old _Rattler_, fore-reaching in the same marvellous +manner that compelled sailors to see in order to believe and that +punctuated many an angry discussion with words and blows on the beaches +of all the ports from Valparaiso to Manila Bay. + +On this night, close-hauled, her big mainsail preposterously flattened +down, her luffs pulsing emptily on the lift of each smooth swell, she +was sliding an easy four knots through the water on the veriest whisper +of a breeze. For an hour David Grief had been leaning on the rail at the +lee fore-rigging, gazing overside at the steady phosphorescence of her +gait. The faint back-draught from the headsails fanned his cheek and +chest with a wine of coolness, and he was in an ecstasy of appreciation +of the schooner's qualities. + +"Eh!--She's a beauty, Taute, a beauty," he said to the Kanaka lookout, +at the same time stroking the teak of the rail with an affectionate +hand. + +"Ay, skipper," the Kanaka answered in the rich, big-chested tones of +Polynesia. "Thirty years I know ships, but never like 'this. On Raiatea +we call her _Fanauao_." + +"The Dayborn," Grief translated the love-phrase. "Who named her so?" + +About to answer, Taute peered ahead with sudden intensity. Grief joined +him in the gaze. + +"Land," said Taute. + +"Yes; Fuatino," Grief agreed, his eyes still fixed on the spot where +the star-luminous horizon was gouged by a blot of blackness. "It's all +right. I'll tell the captain." + +The _Rattler_ slid along until the loom of the island could be seen as +well as sensed, until the sleepy roar of breakers and the blatting of +goats could be heard, until the wind, off the land, was flower-drenched +with perfume. + +"If it wasn't a crevice, she could run the passage a night like this," +Captain Glass remarked regretfully, as he watched the wheel lashed hard +down by the steersman. + +The _Rattler_, run off shore a mile, had been hove to to wait until +daylight ere she attempted the perilous entrance to Fuatino. It was a +perfect tropic night, with no hint of rain or squall. For'ard, wherever +their tasks left them, the Raiatea sailors sank down to sleep on deck. +Aft, the captain and mate and Grief spread their beds with similar +languid unconcern. They lay on their blankets, smoking and murmuring +sleepy conjectures about Mataara, the Queen of Fuatino, and about the +love affair between her daughter, Naumoo, and Motuaro. + +"They're certainly a romantic lot," Brown, the mate, said. "As romantic +as we whites." + +"As romantic as Pilsach," Grief laughed, "and that is going some. How +long ago was it, Captain, that he jumped you?" + +"Eleven years," Captain Glass grunted resentfully. + +"Tell me about it," Brown pleaded. "They say he's never left Fuatino +since. Is that right?" + +"Right O," the captain rumbled. "He's in love with his wife--the little +hussy! Stole him from me, and as good a sailorman as the trade has ever +seen--if he is a Dutchman." + +"German," Grief corrected. + +"It's all the same," was the retort. "The sea was robbed of a good man +that night he went ashore and Notutu took one look at him. I reckon they +looked good to each other. Before you could say skat, she'd put a wreath +of some kind of white flowers on his head, and in five minutes they were +off down the beach, like a couple of kids, holding hands and laughing. I +hope he's blown that big coral patch out of the channel. I always start +a sheet or two of copper warping past." + +"Go on with the story," Brown urged. + +"That's all. He was finished right there. Got married that night. Never +came on board again. I looked him up next day. Found him in a straw +house in the bush, barelegged, a white savage, all mixed up with flowers +and things and playing a guitar. Looked like a bally ass. Told me to +send his things ashore. I told him I'd see him damned first. And that's +all. You'll see her to-morrow. They've got three kiddies now--wonderful +little rascals. I've a phonograph down below for him, and about a +million records." + +"And then you made him trader?" the mate inquired of Grief. + +"What else could I do? Fuatino is a love island, and Filsach is a lover. +He knows the native, too--one of the best traders I've got, or ever had. +He's responsible. You'll see him to-morrow." + +"Look here, young man," Captain Glass rumbled threateningly at his mate. +"Are you romantic? Because if you are, on board you stay. Fuatino's the +island of romantic insanity. Everybody's in love with somebody. They +live on love. It's in the milk of the cocoa-nuts, or the air, or the +sea. The history of the island for the last ten thousand years is +nothing but love affairs. I know. I've talked with the old men. And if I +catch you starting down the beach hand in hand--" + +His sudden cessation caused both the other men to look at him. They +followed his gaze, which passed across them to the main rigging, and saw +what he saw, a brown hand and arm, muscular and wet, being joined from +overside by a second brown hand and arm. A head followed, thatched with +long elfin locks, and then a face, with roguish black eyes, lined with +the marks of wildwood's laughter. + +"My God!" Brown breathed. "It's a faun--a sea-faun." + +"It's the Goat Man," said Glass. + +"It is Mauriri," said Grief. "He is my own blood brother by sacred +plight of native custom. His name is mine, and mine is his." + +Broad brown shoulders and a magnificent chest rose above the rail, and, +with what seemed effortless ease, the whole grand body followed over +the rail and noiselessly trod the deck. Brown, who might have been other +things than the mate of an island schooner, was enchanted. All that he +had ever gleaned from the books proclaimed indubitably the faun-likeness +of this visitant of the deep. "But a sad faun," was the young man's +judgment, as the golden-brown woods god strode forward to where David +Grief sat up with outstretched hand. + +"David," said David Grief. + +"Mauriri, Big Brother," said Mauriri. + +And thereafter, in the custom of men who have pledged blood brotherhood, +each called the other, not by the other's name, but by his own. Also, +they talked in the Polynesian tongue of Fuatino, and Brown could only +sit and guess. + +"A long swim to say _talofa_," Grief said, as the other sat and streamed +water on the deck. + +"Many days and nights have I watched for your coming, Big Brother," +Mauriri replied. "I have sat on the Big Rock, where the dynamite +is kept, of which I have been made keeper. I saw you come up to the +entrance and run back into darkness. I knew you waited till morning, and +I followed. Great trouble has come upon us. Mataara has cried these many +days for your coming. She is an old woman, and Motauri is dead, and she +is sad." + +"Did he marry Naumoo?" Grief asked, after he had shaken his head and +sighed by the custom. + +"Yes. In the end they ran to live with the goats, till Mataara forgave, +when they returned to live with her in the Big House. But he is now +dead, and Naumoo soon will die. Great is our trouble, Big Brother. Tori +is dead, and Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and Nari, and Pilsach, and others." + +"Pilsach, too!" Grief exclaimed. "Has there been a sickness?" + +"There has been much killing. Listen, Big Brother, Three weeks ago a +strange schooner came. From the Big Rock I saw her topsails above the +sea. She towed in with her boats, but they did not warp by the big +patch, and she pounded many times. She is now on the beach, where they +are strengthening the broken timbers. There are eight white men on +board. They have women from some island far to the east. The women +talk a language in many ways like ours, only different. But we can +understand. They say they were stolen by the men on the schooner. We do +not know, but they sing and dance and are happy." + +"And the men?" Grief interrupted. + +"They talk French. I know, for there was a mate on your schooner who +talked French long ago. There are two chief men, and they do not look +like the others. They have blue eyes like you, and they are devils. One +is a bigger devil than the other. The other six are also devils. They do +not pay us for our yams, and taro, and breadfruit. They take everything +from us, and if we complain they kill us. Thus was killed Tori, and +Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and others. We cannot fight, for we have no +guns--only two or three old guns. + +"They ill-treat our women. Thus was killed Motuaro, who made defence of +Naumoo, whom they have now taken on board their schooner. It was because +of this that Pilsach was killed. Him the chief of the two chief men, the +Big Devil, shot once in his whaleboat, and twice when he tried to crawl +up the sand of the beach. Pilsach was a brave man, and Notutu now sits +in the house and cries without end. Many of the people are afraid, and +have run to live with the goats. But there is not food for all in the +high mountains. And the men will not go out and fish, and they work no +more in the gardens because of the devils who take all they have. And we +are ready to fight. + +"Big Brother, we need guns, and much ammunition. I sent word before I +swam out to you, and the men are waiting. The strange white men do not +know you are come. Give me a boat, and the guns, and I will go back +before the sun. And when you come to-morrow we will be ready for the +word from you to kill the strange white men. They must be killed. Big +Brother, you have ever been of the blood with us, and the men and women +have prayed to many gods for your coming. And you are come." + +"I will go in the boat with you," Grief said. + +"No, Big Brother," was Mauriri's reply. "You must be with the schooner. +The strange white men will fear the schooner, not us. We will have the +guns, and they will not know. It is only when they see your schooner +come that they will be alarmed. Send the young man there with the boat." + +So it was that Brown, thrilling with all the romance and adventure he +had read and guessed and never lived, took his place in the sternsheets +of a whaleboat, loaded with rifles and cartridges, rowed by four Baiatea +sailors, steered by a golden-brown, sea-swimming faun, and directed +through the warm tropic darkness toward the half-mythical love island of +Fuatino, which had been invaded by twentieth century pirates. + + + + +II + +If a line be drawn between Jaluit, in the Marshall Group, and +Bougainville, in the Solomons, and if this line be bisected at two +degrees south of the equator by a line drawn from Ukuor, in the +Carolines, the high island of Fuatino will be raised in that sun-washed +stretch of lonely sea. Inhabited by a stock kindred to the Hawaiian, +the Samoan, the Tahitian, and the Maori, Fuatino becomes the apex of the +wedge driven by Polynesia far to the west and in between Melanesia and +Micronesia. And it was Fuatino that David Grief raised next morning, +two miles to the east and in direct line with the rising sun. The same +whisper of a breeze held, and the _Rattler_ slid through the smooth sea +at a rate that would have been eminently proper for an island schooner +had the breeze been thrice as strong. + +Fuatino was nothing else than an ancient crater, thrust upward from the +sea-bottom by some primordial cataclysm. The western portion, broken +and crumbled to sea level, was the entrance to the crater itself, which +constituted the harbour. Thus, Fuatino was like a rugged horseshoe, the +heel pointing to the west. And into the opening at the heel the Rattler +steered. Captain Glass, binoculars in hand and peering at the chart made +by himself, which was spread on top the cabin, straightened up with an +expression on his face that was half alarm, half resignation. + +"It's coming," he said. "Fever. It wasn't due till to-morrow. It always +hits me hard, Mr. Grief. In five minutes I'll be off my head. You'll +have to con the schooner in. Boy! Get my bunk ready! Plenty of blankets! +Fill that hot-water bottle! It's so calm, Mr. Grief, that I think you +can pass the big patch without warping. Take the leading wind and shoot +her. She's the only craft in the South Pacific that can do it, and I +know you know the trick. You can scrape the Big Rock by just watching +out for the main boom." + +He had talked rapidly, almost like a drunken man, as his reeling brain +battled with the rising shock of the malarial stroke. When he stumbled +toward the companionway, his face was purpling and mottling as if +attacked by some monstrous inflammation or decay. His eyes were setting +in a glassy bulge, his hands shaking, his teeth clicking in the spasms +of chill. + +"Two hours to get the sweat," he chattered with a ghastly grin. "And a +couple more and I'll be all right. I know the damned thing to the last +minute it runs its course. Y-y-you t-t-take ch-ch-ch-ch----" + +His voice faded away in a weak stutter as he collapsed down into the +cabin and his employer took charge. The _Rattler_ was just entering the +passage. The heels of the horseshoe island were two huge mountains of +rock a thousand feet high, each almost broken off from the mainland and +connected with it by a low and narrow peninsula. Between the heels was +a half-mile stretch, all but blocked by a reef of coral extending across +from the south heel. The passage, which Captain Glass had called a +crevice, twisted into this reef, curved directly to the north heel, and +ran along the base of the perpendicular rock. At this point, with the +main-boom almost grazing the rock on the port side, Grief, peering down +on the starboard side, could see bottom less than two fathoms beneath +and shoaling steeply. With a whaleboat towing for steerage and as a +precaution against back-draughts from the cliff, and taking advantage of +a fan of breeze, he shook the Rattler full into it and glided by the big +coral patch without warping. As it was, he just scraped, but so softly +as not to start the copper. + +The harbour of Fuatino opened before him. It was a circular sheet of +water, five miles in diameter, rimmed with white coral beaches, from +which the verdure-clad slopes rose swiftly to the frowning crater walls. +The crests of the walls were saw-toothed, volcanic peaks, capped and +halo'd with captive trade-wind clouds. Every nook and crevice of the +disintegrating lava gave foothold to creeping, climbing vines and +trees--a green foam of vegetation. Thin streams of water, that were +mere films of mist, swayed and undulated downward in sheer descents +of hundreds of feet. And to complete the magic of the place, the warm, +moist air was heavy with the perfume of the yellow-blossomed _cassi_. + +Fanning along against light, vagrant airs, the _Rattler_ worked in. +Calling the whale-boat on board, Grief searched out the shore with his +binoculars. There was no life. In the hot blaze of tropic sun the place +slept. There was no sign of welcome. Up the beach, on the north shore, +where the fringe of cocoanut palms concealed the village, he could see +the black bows of the canoes in the canoe-houses. On the beach, on even +keel, rested the strange schooner. Nothing moved on board of her or +around her. Not until the beach lay fifty yards away did Grief let go +the anchor in forty fathoms. Out in the middle, long years before, he +had sounded three hundred fathoms without reaching bottom, which was to +be expected of a healthy crater-pit like Fuatino. As the chain roared +and surged through the hawse-pipe he noticed a number of native women, +lusciously large as only those of Polynesia are, in flowing _ahu's_, +flower-crowned, stream out on the deck of the schooner on the beach. +Also, and what they did not see, he saw from the galley the squat figure +of a man steal for'ard, drop to the sand, and dive into the green screen +of bush. + +While the sails were furled and gasketed, awnings stretched, and sheets +and tackles coiled harbour fashion, David Grief paced the deck and +looked vainly for a flutter of life elsewhere than on the strange +schooner. Once, beyond any doubt, he heard the distant crack of a rifle +in the direction of the Big Rock. There were no further shots, and he +thought of it as some hunter shooting a wild goat. + +At the end of another hour Captain Glass, under a mountain of blankets, +had ceased shivering and was in the inferno of a profound sweat. + +"I'll be all right in half an hour," he said weakly. + +"Very well," Grief answered. "The place is dead, and I'm going ashore to +see Mataara and find out the situation." + +"It's a tough bunch; keep your eyes open," the captain warned him. "If +you're not back in an hour, send word off." + +Grief took the steering-sweep, and four of his Raiatea men bent to the +oars. As they landed on the beach he looked curiously at the women under +the schooner's awning. He waved his hand tentatively, and they, after +giggling, waved back. + +"_Talofa!_" he called. + +They understood the greeting, but replied, "_Iorana_," and he knew they +came from the Society Group. + +"Huahine," one of his sailors unhesitatingly named their island. Grief +asked them whence they came, and with giggles and laughter they replied, +"Huahine." + +"It looks like old Dupuy's schooner," Grief said, in Tahitian, speaking +in a low voice. "Don't look too hard. What do you think, eh? Isn't it +the _Valetta?_" + +As the men climbed out and lifted the whale-boat slightly up the beach +they stole careless glances at the vessel. + +"It is the _Valetta_," Taute said. "She carried her topmast away seven +years ago. At Papeete they rigged a new one. It was ten feet shorter. +That is the one." + +"Go over and talk with the women, you boys. You can almost see Huahine +from Raiatea, and you'll be sure to know some of them. Find out all you +can. And if any of the white men show up, don't start a row." + +An army of hermit crabs scuttled and rustled away before him as he +advanced up the beach, but under the palms no pigs rooted and grunted. +The cocoanuts lay where they had fallen, and at the copra-sheds there +were no signs of curing. Industry and tidiness had vanished. Grass +house after grass house he found deserted. Once he came upon an old +man, blind, toothless, prodigiously wrinkled, who sat in the shade and +babbled with fear when he spoke to him. It was as if the place had been +struck with the plague, was Grief's thought, as he finally approached +the Big House. All was desolation and disarray. There were no +flower-crowned men and maidens, no brown babies rolling in the shade of +the avocado trees. In the doorway, crouched and rocking back and forth, +sat Mataara, the old queen. She wept afresh at sight of him, divided +between the tale of her woe and regret that no follower was left to +dispense to him her hospitality. + +"And so they have taken Naumoo," she finished. "Motauri is dead. My +people have fled and are starving with the goats. And there is no one to +open for you even a drinking cocoa-nut. O Brother, your white brothers +be devils." + +"They are no brothers of mine, Mataara," Grief consoled. "They are +robbers and pigs, and I shall clean the island of them----" + +He broke off to whirl half around, his hand flashing to his waist and +back again, the big Colt's levelled at the figure of a man, bent double, +that rushed at him from out of the trees. He did not pull the trigger, +nor did the man pause till he had flung himself headlong at Grief's +feet and begun to pour forth a stream of uncouth and awful noises. He +recognized the creature as the one he had seen steal from the _Valetta_ +and dive into the bush; but not until he raised him up and watched +the contortions of the hare-lipped mouth could he understand what he +uttered. + +"Save me, master, save me!" the man yammered, in English, though he was +unmistakably a South Sea native. "I know you! Save me!" + +And thereat he broke into a wild outpour of incoherence that did +not cease until Grief seized him by the shoulders and shook him into +silence. + +"I know you," Grief said. "You were cook in the French Hotel at Papeete +two years ago. Everybody called you 'Hare-Lip.'" + +The man nodded violently. + +"I am now cook of the _Valetta_," he spat and spluttered, his mouth +writhing in a fearful struggle with its defect. "I know you. I saw you +at the hotel. I saw you at Lavina's. I saw you on the _Kittiwake_. I saw +you at the _Mariposa_ wharf. You are Captain Grief, and you will save +me. Those men are devils. They killed Captain Dupuy. Me they made kill +half the crew. Two they shot from the cross-trees. The rest they shot +in the water. I knew them all. They stole the girls from Huahine. They +added to their strength with jail-men from Noumea. They robbed the +traders in the New Hebrides. They killed the trader at Vanikori, and +stole two women there. They----" + +But Grief no longer heard. Through the trees, from the direction of +the harbour, came a rattle of rifles, and he started on the run for the +beach. Pirates from Tahiti and convicts from New Caledonia! A pretty +bunch of desperadoes that even now was attacking his schooner. Hare-Lip +followed, still spluttering and spitting his tale of the white devils' +doings. + +The rifle-firing ceased as abruptly as it had begun, but Grief ran +on, perplexed by ominous conjectures, until, in a turn of the path, he +encountered Mauriri running toward him from the beach. + +"Big Brother," the Goat Man panted, "I was too late. They have taken +your schooner. Come! For now they will seek for you." + +He started back up the path away from the beach. + +"Where is Brown?" Grief demanded. + +"On the Big Rock. I will tell you afterward. Come now!" + +"But my men in the whaleboat?" + +Mauriri was in an agony of apprehension. + +"They are with the women on the strange schooner. They will not be +killed. I tell you true. The devils want sailors. But you they will +kill. Listen!" From the water, in a cracked tenor voice, came a French +hunting song. "They are landing on the beach. They have taken your +schooner--that I saw. Come!" + + + + +III + +Careless of his own life and skin, nevertheless David Grief was +possessed of no false hardihood. He knew when to fight and when to run, +and that this was the time for running he had no doubt. Up the path, +past the old men sitting in the shade, past Mataara crouched in the +doorway of the Big House, he followed at the heels of Mauriri. At his +own heels, doglike, plodded Hare-Lip. From behind came the cries of the +hunters, but the pace Mauriri led them was heartbreaking. The broad path +narrowed, swung to the right, and pitched upward. The last grass house +was left, and through high thickets of _cassi_ and swarms of great +golden wasps the way rose steeply until it became a goat-track. Pointing +upward to a bare shoulder of volcanic rock, Mauriri indicated the trail +across its face. + +"Past that we are safe, Big Brother," he said. "The white devils never +dare it, for there are rocks we roll down on their heads, and there +is no other path. Always do they stop here and shoot when we cross the +rock. Come!" + +A quarter of an hour later they paused where the trail went naked on the +face of the rock. + +"Wait, and when you come, come quickly," Mauriri cautioned. + +He sprang into the blaze of sunlight, and from below several rifles +pumped rapidly. Bullets smacked about him, and puffs of stone-dust +flew out, but he won safely across. Grief followed, and so near did +one bullet come that the dust of its impact stung his cheek. Nor was +Hare-Lip struck, though he essayed the passage more slowly. + +For the rest of the day, on the greater heights, they lay in a lava glen +where terraced taro and _papaia_ grew. And here Grief made his plans and +learned the fulness of the situation. + +"It was ill luck," Mauriri said. "Of all nights this one night was +selected by the white devils to go fishing. It was dark as we came +through the passage. They were in boats and canoes. Always do they have +their rifles with them. One Raiatea man they shot. Brown was very brave. +We tried to get by to the top of the bay, but they headed us off, and we +were driven in between the Big Rock and the village. We saved the guns +and all the ammunition, but they got the boat. Thus they learned of your +coming. Brown is now on this side of the Big Rock with the guns and the +ammunition." + +"But why didn't he go over the top of the Big Rock and give me warning +as I came in from the sea?" Grief criticised. + +"They knew not the way. Only the goats and I know the way. And this I +forgot, for I crept through the bush to gain the water and swim to you. +But the devils were in the bush shooting at Brown and the Raiatea men; +and me they hunted till daylight, and through the morning they hunted +me there in the low-lying land. Then you came in your schooner, and they +watched till you went ashore, and I got away through the bush, but you +were already ashore." + +"You fired that shot?" + +"Yes; to warn you. But they were wise and would not shoot back, and it +was my last cartridge." + +"Now you, Hare-Lip?" Grief said to the _Valetta's_ cook. + +His tale was long and painfully detailed. For a year he had been sailing +out of Tahiti and through the Paumotus on the _Valetta_. Old Dupuy was +owner and captain. On his last cruise he had shipped two strangers in +Tahiti as mate and supercargo. Also, another stranger he carried to be +his agent on Fanriki. Raoul Van Asveld and Carl Lepsius were the names +of the mate and supercargo. + +"They are brothers, I know, for I have heard them talk in the dark, on +deck, when they thought no one listened," Hare-Lip explained. + +The _Valetta_ cruised through the Low Islands, picking up shell and +pearls at Dupuy's stations. Frans Amundson, the third stranger, relieved +Pierre Gollard at Fanriki. Pierre Gollard came on board to go back to +Tahiti. The natives of Fanriki said he had a quart of pearls to turn +over to Dupuy. The first night out from Fanriki there was shooting +in the cabin. Then the bodies of Dupuy and Pierre Gollard were thrown +overboard. The Tahitian sailors fled to the forecastle. For two days, +with nothing to eat and the _Valetta_ hove to, they remained below. Then +Raoul Van Asveld put poison in the meal he made Hare-Lip cook and carry +for'ard. Half the sailors died. + +"He had a rifle pointed at me, master; what could I do?" Hare-Lip +whimpered. "Of the rest, two went up the rigging and were shot. Fanriki +was ten miles away. The others went overboard to swim. They were shot +as they swam. I, only, lived, and the two devils; for me they wanted to +cook for them. That day, with the breeze, they went back to Fanrika and +took on Frans Amundson, for he was one of them." + +Then followed Hare-Lip's nightmare experiences as the schooner wandered +on the long reaches to the westward. He was the one living witness and +knew they would have killed him had he not been the cook. At Noumea five +convicts had joined them. Hare-Lip was never permitted ashore at any of +the islands, and Grief was the first outsider to whom he had spoken. + +"And now they will kill me," Hare-Lip spluttered, "for they will know +I have told you. Yet am I not all a coward, and I will stay with you, +master, and die with you." + +The Goat Man shook his head and stood up. + +"Lie here and rest," he said to Grief. "It will be a long swim to-night. +As for this cook-man, I will take him now to the higher places where my +brothers live with the goats." + + + + +IV + +"It is well that you swim as a man should, Big Brother," Mauriri +whispered. + +From the lava glen they had descended to the head of the bay and taken +to the water. They swam softly, without splash, Mauriri in the lead. The +black walls of the crater rose about them till it seemed they swam +on the bottom of a great bowl. Above was the sky of faintly luminous +star-dust. Ahead they could see the light which marked the Rattler, and +from her deck, softened by distance, came a gospel hymn played on the +phonograph intended for Pilsach. + +The two swimmers bore to the left, away from the captured schooner. +Laughter and song followed on board after the hymn, then the phonograph +started again. Grief grinned to himself at the appositeness of it as +"Lead, Kindly Light," floated out over the dark water. + +"We must take the passage and land on the Big Rock," Mauriri whispered. +"The devils are holding the low land. Listen!" + +Half a dozen rifle shots, at irregular intervals, attested that Brown +still held the Rock and that the pirates had invested the narrow +peninsula. + +At the end of another hour they swam under the frowning loom of the Big +Rock. Mauriri, feeling his way, led the landing in a crevice, up which +for a hundred feet they climbed to a narrow ledge. + +"Stay here," said Mauriri. "I go to Brown. In the morning I shall +return." + +"I will go with you, Brother," Grief said. + +Mauriri laughed in the darkness. + +"Even you, Big Brother, cannot do this thing. I am the Goat Man, and +I only, of all Fuatino, can go over the Big Rock in the night. +Furthermore, it will be the first time that even I have done it. Put out +your hand. You feel it? That is where Pilsach's dynamite is kept. Lie +close beside the wall and you may sleep without falling. I go now." + +And high above the sounding surf, on a narrow shelf beside a ton of +dynamite, David Grief planned his campaign, then rested his cheek on his +arm and slept. + +In the morning, when Mauriri led him over the summit of the Big Rock, +David Grief understood why he could not have done it in the night. +Despite the accustomed nerve of a sailor for height and precarious +clinging, he marvelled that he was able to do it in the broad light of +day. There were places, always under minute direction of Mauriri, that +he leaned forward, falling, across hundred-foot-deep crevices, until his +outstretched hands struck a grip on the opposing wall and his legs could +then be drawn across after. Once, there was a ten-foot leap, above half +a thousand feet of yawning emptiness and down a fathom's length to a +meagre foothold. And he, despite his cool head, lost it another time on +a shelf, a scant twelve inches wide, where all hand-holds seemed to fail +him. And Mauriri, seeing him sway, swung his own body far out and over +the gulf and passed him, at the same time striking him sharply on the +back to brace his reeling brain. Then it was, and forever after, that he +fully knew why Mauriri had been named the Goat Man. + + + + +V + +The defence of the Big Rock had its good points and its defects. +Impregnable to assault, two men could hold it against ten thousand. +Also, it guarded the passage to open sea. The two schooners, Raoul Van +Asveld, and his cutthroat following were bottled up. Grief, with the ton +of dynamite, which he had removed higher up the rock, was master. This +he demonstrated, one morning, when the schooners attempted to put to +sea. The _Valetta_ led, the whaleboat towing her manned by captured +Fuatino men. Grief and the Goat Man peered straight down from a safe +rock-shelter, three hundred feet above. Their rifles were beside them, +also a glowing fire-stick and a big bundle of dynamite sticks with fuses +and decanators attached. As the whaleboat came beneath, Mauriri shook +his head. + +"They are our brothers. We cannot shoot." + +For'ard, on the _Valetta_, were several of Grief's own Raiatea sailors. +Aft stood another at the wheel. The pirates were below, or on the other +schooner, with the exception of one who stood, rifle in hand, amidships. +For protection he held Naumoo, the Queen's daughter, close to him. + +"That is the chief devil," Mauriri whispered, "and his eyes are blue +like yours. He is a terrible man. See! He holds Naumoo that we may not +shoot him." + +A light air and a slight tide were making into the passage, and the +schooner's progress was slow. + +"Do you speak English?" Grief called down. + +The man startled, half lifted his rifle to the perpendicular, and looked +up. There was something quick and catlike in his movements, and in his +burned blond face a fighting eagerness. It was the face of a killer. + +"Yes," he answered. "What do you want?" + +"Turn back, or I'll blow your schooner up," Grief warned. He blew on the +fire-stick and whispered, "Tell Naumoo to break away from him and run +aft." + +From the _Rattler_, close astern, rifles cracked, and bullets spatted +against the rock. Van Asveld laughed defiantly, and Mauriri called +down in the native tongue to the woman. When directly beneath, Grief, +watching, saw her jerk away from the man. On the instant Grief touched +the fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of the short fuse, +sprang into view on the face of the rock, and dropped the dynamite. Van +Asveld had managed to catch the girl and was struggling with her. The +Goat Man held a rifle on him and waited a chance. The dynamite struck +the deck in a compact package, bounded, and rolled into the port +scupper. Van Asveld saw it and hesitated, then he and the girl ran aft +for their lives. The Goat Man fired, but splintered the corner of the +galley. The spattering of bullets from the _Rattler_ increased, and the +two on the rock crouched low for shelter and waited. Mauriri tried to +see what was happening below, but Grief held him back. + +"The fuse was too long," he said. "I'll know better next time." + +It was half a minute before the explosion came. What happened afterward, +for some little time, they could not tell, for the Rattler's marksmen +had got the range and were maintaining a steady fire. Once, fanned by a +couple of bullets, Grief risked a peep. The _Valetta_, her port deck +and rail torn away, was listing and sinking as she drifted back into the +harbour. Climbing on board the _Rattler_ were the men and the Huahine +women who had been hidden in the _Valetta's_ cabin and who had swum for +it under the protecting fire. The Fuatino men who had been towing in the +whaleboat had cast off the line, dashed back through the passage, and +were rowing wildly for the south shore. + +From the shore of the peninsula the discharges of four rifles announced +that Brown and his men had worked through the jungle to the beach and +were taking a hand. The bullets ceased coming, and Grief and Mauriri +joined in with their rifles. But they could do no damage, for the men of +the _Rattler_ were firing from the shelter of the deck-houses, while the +wind and tide carried the schooner farther in. + +There was no sign of the _Valetta_, which had sunk in the deep water of +the crater. + +Two things Raoul Van Asveld did that showed his keenness and coolness +and that elicited Grief's admiration. Under the _Rattler's_ rifle fire +Raoul compelled the fleeing Fuatino men to come in and surrender. And at +the same time, dispatching half his cutthroats in the _Rattler's_ boat, +he threw them ashore and across the peninsula, preventing Brown from +getting away to the main part of the island. And for the rest of the +morning the intermittent shooting told to Grief how Brown was being +driven in to the other side of the Big Rock. The situation was +unchanged, with the exception of the loss of the _Valetta_. + + + + +VI + +The defects of the position on the Big Rock were vital. There was +neither food nor water. For several nights, accompanied by one of the +Raiatea men, Mauriri swam to the head of the bay for supplies. Then came +the night when lights flared on the water and shots were fired. After +that the water-side of the Big Rock was invested as well. + +"It's a funny situation," Brown remarked, who was getting all the +adventure he had been led to believe resided in the South Seas. "We've +got hold and can't let go, and Raoul has hold and can't let go. He can't +get away, and we're liable to starve to death holding him." + +"If the rain came, the rock-basins would fill," said Mauriri. It was +their first twenty-four hours without water. "Big Brother, to-night you +and I will get water. It is the work of strong men." + +That night, with cocoanut calabashes, each of quart capacity and tightly +stoppered, he led Grief down to the water from the peninsula side of the +Big Rock. They swam out not more than a hundred feet. Beyond, they could +hear the occasional click of an oar or the knock of a paddle against +a canoe, and sometimes they saw the flare of matches as the men in the +guarding boats lighted cigarettes or pipes. + +"Wait here," whispered Mauriri, "and hold the calabashes." + +Turning over, he swam down. Grief, face downward, watched his +phosphorescent track glimmer, and dim, and vanish. A long minute +afterward Mauriri broke surface noiselessly at Grief's side. + +"Here! Drink!" + +The calabash was full, and Grief drank sweet fresh water which had come +up from the depths of the salt. + +"It flows out from the land," said Mauriri. + +"On the bottom?" + +"No. The bottom is as far below as the mountains are above. Fifty feet +down it flows. Swim down until you feel its coolness." + +Several times filling and emptying his lungs in diver fashion, Grief +turned over and went down through the water. Salt it was to his lips, +and warm to his flesh; but at last, deep down, it perceptibly chilled +and tasted brackish. Then, suddenly, his body entered the cold, +subterranean stream. He removed the small stopper from the calabash, +and, as the sweet water gurgled into it, he saw the phosphorescent +glimmer of a big fish, like a sea ghost, drift sluggishly by. + +Thereafter, holding the growing weight of the calabashes, he remained on +the surface, while Mauriri took them down, one by one, and filled them. + +"There are sharks," Grief said, as they swam back to shore. + +"Pooh!" was the answer. "They are fish sharks. We of Fuatino are +brothers to the fish sharks." + +"But the tiger sharks? I have seen them here." + +"When they come, Big Brother, we will have no more water to +drink--unless it rains." + + + + +VII + +A week later Mauriri and a Raiatea man swam back with empty calabashes. +The tiger sharks had arrived in the harbour. The next day they thirsted +on the Big Rock. + +"We must take our chance," said Grief. "Tonight I shall go after water +with Mautau. Tomorrow night, Brother, you will go with Tehaa." + +Three quarts only did Grief get, when the tiger sharks appeared and +drove them in. There were six of them on the Rock, and a pint a day, in +the sweltering heat of the mid-tropics, is not sufficient moisture for a +man's body. The next night Mauriri and Tehaa returned with no water. And +the day following Brown learned the full connotation of thirst, when the +lips crack to bleeding, the mouth is coated with granular slime, and the +swollen tongue finds the mouth too small for residence. + +Grief swam out in the darkness with Mautau. Turn by turn, they went down +through the salt, to the cool sweet stream, drinking their fill while +the calabashes were filling. It was Mau-tau's turn to descend with the +last calabash, and Grief, peering down from the surface, saw the glimmer +of sea-ghosts and all the phosphorescent display of the struggle. He +swam back alone, but without relinquishing the precious burden of full +calabashes. + +Of food they had little. Nothing grew on the Rock, and its sides, +covered with shellfish at sea level where the surf thundered in, were +too precipitous for access. Here and there, where crevices permitted, a +few rank shellfish and sea urchins were gleaned. Sometimes frigate birds +and other sea birds were snared. Once, with a piece of frigate bird, +they succeeded in hooking a shark. After that, with jealously guarded +shark-meat for bait, they managed on occasion to catch more sharks. + +But water remained their direst need. Mauriri prayed to the Goat +God for rain. Taute prayed to the Missionary God, and his two fellow +islanders, backsliding, invoked the deities of their old heathen days. +Grief grinned and considered. But Brown, wild-eyed, with protruding +blackened tongue, cursed. Especially he cursed the phonograph that +in the cool twilights ground out gospel hymns from the deck of the +_Rattler_. One hymn in particular, "Beyond the Smiling and the Weeping," +drove him to madness. It seemed a favourite on board the schooner, for +it was played most of all. Brown, hungry and thirsty, half out of +his head from weakness and suffering, could lie among the rocks with +equanimity and listen to the tinkling of ukuleles and guitars, and +the hulas and himines of the Huahine women. But when the voices of the +Trinity Choir floated over the water he was beside himself. One evening +the cracked tenor took up the song with the machine: + + "Beyond the smiling and the weeping, + I shall be soon. + Beyond the waking and the sleeping, + Beyond the sowing and the reaping, + I shall be soon, + I shall be soon." + +Then it was that Brown rose up. Again and again, blindly, he emptied his +rifle at the schooner. Laughter floated up from the men and women, and +from the peninsula came a splattering of return bullets; but the cracked +tenor sang on, and Brown continued to fire, until the hymn was played +out. + +It was that night that Grief and Mauriri came back with but one calabash +of water. A patch of skin six inches long was missing from Grief's +shoulder in token of the scrape of the sandpaper hide of a shark whose +dash he had eluded. + + + + + +VIII + +In the early morning of another day, before the sun-blaze had gained its +full strength, came an offer of a parley from Raoul Van Asveld. + +Brown brought the word in from the outpost among the rocks a hundred +yards away. Grief was squatted over a small fire, broiling a strip of +shark-flesh. The last twenty-four hours had been lucky. Seaweed and sea +urchins had been gathered. Tehaa had caught a shark, and Mauriri had +captured a fair-sized octopus at the base of the crevice where the +dynamite was stored. Then, too, in the darkness they had made two +successful swims for water before the tiger sharks had nosed them out. + +"Said he'd like to come in and talk with you," Brown said. "But I know +what the brute is after. Wants to see how near starved to death we are." + +"Bring him in," Grief said. + +"And then we will kill him," the Goat Man cried joyously. + +Grief shook his head. + +"But he is a killer of men, Big Brother, a beast and a devil," the Goat +Man protested. + +"He must not be killed, Brother. It is our way not to break our word." + +"It is a foolish way." + +"Still it is our way," Grief answered gravely, turning the strip of +shark-meat over on the coals and noting the hungry sniff and look of +Tehaa. "Don't do that, Tehaa, when the Big Devil comes. Look as if you +and hunger were strangers. Here, cook those sea urchins, you, and you, +Big Brother, cook the squid. We will have the Big Devil to feast with +us. Spare nothing. Cook all." + +And, still broiling meat, Grief arose as Raoul Van Asveld, followed by a +large Irish terrier, strode into camp. Raoul did not make the mistake of +holding out his hand. + +"Hello!" he said. "I've heard of you." + +"I wish I'd never heard of you," Grief answered. + +"Same here," was the response. "At first, before I knew who it was, +I thought I had to deal with an ordinary trading captain. That's why +you've got me bottled up." + +"And I am ashamed to say that I underrated you," Grief smiled. "I took +you for a thieving beachcomber, and not for a really intelligent pirate +and murderer. Hence, the loss of my schooner. Honours are even, I fancy, +on that score." + +Raoul flushed angrily under his sunburn, but he contained himself. His +eyes roved over the supply of food and the full water-calabashes, though +he concealed the incredulous surprise he felt. His was a tall, slender, +well-knit figure, and Grief, studying him, estimated his character +from his face. The eyes were keen and strong, but a bit too close +together--not pinched, however, but just a trifle near to balance the +broad forehead, the strong chin and jaw, and the cheekbones wide apart. +Strength! His face was filled with it, and yet Grief sensed in it the +intangible something the man lacked. + +"We are both strong men," Raoul said, with a bow. "We might have been +fighting for empires a hundred years ago." + +It was Grief's turn to bow. + +"As it is, we are squalidly scrapping over the enforcement of the +colonial laws of those empires whose destinies we might possibly have +determined a hundred years ago." + +"It all comes to dust," Raoul remarked sen-tentiously, sitting down. "Go +ahead with your meal. Don't let me interrupt." + +"Won't you join us?" was Grief's invitation. + +The other looked at him with sharp steadiness, then accepted. + +"I'm sticky with sweat," he said. "Can I wash?" + +Grief nodded and ordered Mauriri to bring a calabash. Raoul looked into +the Goat Man's eyes, but saw nothing save languid uninterest as the +precious quart of water was wasted on the ground. + +"The dog is thirsty," Raoul said. + +Grief nodded, and another calabash was presented to the animal. + +Again Raoul searched the eyes of the natives and learned nothing. + +"Sorry we have no coffee," Grief apologized. "You'll have to drink plain +water. A calabash, Tehaa. Try some of this shark. There is squid to +follow, and sea urchins and a seaweed salad. I'm sorry we haven't any +frigate bird. The boys were lazy yesterday, and did not try to catch +any." + +With an appetite that would not have stopped at wire nails dipped in +lard, Grief ate perfunctorily, and tossed the scraps to the dog. + +"I'm afraid I haven't got down to the primitive diet yet," he sighed, +as he sat back. "The tinned goods on the _Rattler_, now I could make a +hearty meal off of them, but this muck----" He took a half-pound strip +of broiled shark and flung it to the dog. "I suppose I'll come to it if +you don't surrender pretty soon." + +Raoul laughed unpleasantly. + +"I came to offer terms," he said pointedly. + +Grief shook his head. + +"There aren't any terms. I've got you where the hair is short, and I'm +not going to let go." + +"You think you can hold me in this hole!" Raoul cried. + +"You'll never leave it alive, except in double irons." Grief surveyed +his guest with an air of consideration. "I've handled your kind before. +We've pretty well cleaned it out of the South Seas. But you are a--how +shall I say?--a sort of an anachronism. You're a throwback, and we've +got to get rid of you. Personally, I would advise you to go back to the +schooner and blow your brains out. It is the only way to escape what +you've got coming to you." + +The parley, so far as Raoul was concerned, proved fruitless, and he went +back into his own lines convinced that the men on the Big Rock could +hold out for years, though he would have been swiftly unconvinced could +he have observed Tehaa and the Raiateans, the moment his back was +turned and he was out of sight, crawling over the rocks and sucking and +crunching the scraps his dog had left uneaten. + + + + +IX + +"We hunger now, Brother," Grief said, "but it is better than to hunger +for many days to come. The Big Devil, after feasting and drinking good +water with us in plenty, will not stay long in Fuatino. Even to-morrow +may he try to leave. To-night you and I sleep over the top of the Rock, +and Tehaa, who shoots well, will sleep with us if he can dare the Rock." + +Tehaa, alone among the Raiateans, was cragsman enough to venture the +perilous way, and dawn found him in a rock-barricaded nook, a hundred +yards to the right of Grief and Mauriri. + +The first warning was the firing of rifles from the peninsula, where +Brown and his two Raiateans signalled the retreat and followed the +besiegers through the jungle to the beach. From the eyrie on the face +of the rock Grief could see nothing for another hour, when the _Rattler_ +appeared, making for the passage. As before, the captive Fuatino men +towed in the whaleboat. Mauriri, under direction of Grief, called down +instructions to them as they passed slowly beneath. By Grief's side +lay several bundles of dynamite sticks, well-lashed together and with +extremely short fuses. + +The deck of the _Rattler_ was populous. For'ard, rifle in hand, among +the Raiatean sailors, stood a desperado whom Mauriri announced was +Raoul's brother. Aft, by the helmsman, stood another. Attached to him, +tied waist to waist, with slack, was Mataara, the old Queen. On the +other side of the helmsman, his arm in a sling, was Captain Glass. +Amidships, as before, was Raoul, and with him, lashed waist to waist, +was Naumoo. + +"Good morning, Mister David Grief," Raoul called up. + +"And yet I warned you that only in double irons would you leave the +island," Grief murmured down with a sad inflection. + +"You can't kill all your people I have on board," was the answer. + +The schooner, moving slowly, jerk by jerk, as the men pulled in the +whaleboat, was almost directly beneath. The rowers, without ceasing, +slacked on their oars, and were immediately threatened with the rifle of +the man who stood for'ard. + +"Throw, Big Brother!" Naumoo called up in the Fuatino tongue. "I am +filled with sorrow and am willed to die. His knife is ready with which +to cut the rope, but I shall hold him tight. Be not afraid, Big Brother. +Throw, and throw straight, and good-bye." + +Grief hesitated, then lowered the fire-stick which he had been blowing +bright. + +"Throw!" the Goat Man urged. + +Still Grief hesitated. + +"If they get to sea, Big Brother, Naumoo dies just the same. And there +are all the others. What is her life against the many?" + +"If you drop any dynamite, or fire a single shot, we'll kill all on +board," Raoul cried up to them. "I've got you, David Grief. You can't +kill these people, and I can. Shut up, you!" + +This last was addressed to Naumoo, who was calling up in her native +tongue and whom Raoul seized by the neck with one hand to choke +to silence. In turn, she locked both arms about him and looked up +beseechingly to Grief. + +"Throw it, Mr. Grief, and be damned to them," Captain Glass rumbled +in his deep voice. "They're bloody murderers, and the cabin's full of +them." + +The desperado who was fastened to the old Queen swung half about to +menace Captain Glass with his rifle, when Tehaa, from his position +farther along the Rock, pulled trigger on him. The rifle dropped from +the man's hand, and on his face was an expression of intense surprise as +his legs crumpled under him and he sank down on deck, dragging the Queen +with him. + +"Port! Hard a port!" Grief cried. + +Captain Glass and the Kanaka whirled the wheel over, and the bow of the +_Rattler_ headed in for the Rock. Amidships Raoul still struggled with +Naumoo. His brother ran from for'ard to his aid, being missed by the +fusillade of quick shots from Tehaa and the Goat Man. As Raoul's brother +placed the muzzle of his rifle to Naumoo's side Grief touched the +fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of the fuse. Even as with +both hands he tossed the big bundle of dynamite, the rifle went off, +and Naumoo's fall to the deck was simultaneous with the fall of the +dynamite. This time the fuse was short enough. The explosion occurred +at the instant the deck was reached, and that portion of the _Rattler_, +along with Raoul, his brother, and Naumoo, forever disappeared. + +The schooner's side was shattered, and she began immediately to settle. +For'ard, every Raiatean sailor dived overboard. Captain Glass met the +first man springing up the com-panionway from the cabin, with a kick +full in the face, but was overborne and trampled on by the rush. +Following the desperadoes came the Huahine women, and as they went +overboard, the _Rattler_ sank on an even keel close to the base of the +Rock. Her cross-trees still stuck out when she reached bottom. + +Looking down, Grief could see all that occurred beneath the surface. He +saw Mataara, a fathom deep, unfasten herself from the dead pirate and +swim upward. As her head emerged she saw Captain Glass, who could not +swim, sinking several yards away. The Queen, old woman that she was, +but an islander, turned over, swam down to him, and held him up as she +struck out for the unsubmerged cross-trees. + +Five heads, blond and brown, were mingled with the dark heads of +Polynesia that dotted the surface. Grief, rifle in hand, watched for a +chance to shoot. The Goat Man, after a minute, was successful, and they +saw the body of one man sink sluggishly. But to the Raiatean sailors, +big and brawny, half fish, was the vengeance given. Swimming swiftly, +they singled out the blond heads and the brown. Those from above watched +the four surviving desperadoes, clutched and locked, dragged far down +beneath and drowned like curs. + +In ten minutes everything was over. The Huahine women, laughing and +giggling, were holding on to the sides of the whaleboat which had done +the towing. The Raiatean sailors, waiting for orders, were about the +cross-tree to which Captain Glass and Mataara clung. + +"The poor old _Rattler_," Captain Glass lamented. + +"Nothing of the sort," Grief answered. "In a week we'll have her raised, +new timbers amidships, and we'll be on our way." And to the Queen, "How +is it with you, Sister?" + +"Naumoo is gone, and Motauri, Brother, but Fuatino is ours again. The +day is young. Word shall be sent to all my people in the high places +with the goats. And to-night, once again, and as never before, we shall +feast and rejoice in the Big House." + +"She's been needing new timbers abaft the beam there for years," quoth +Captain Glass. "But the chronometers will be out of commission for the +rest of the cruise." + + + + +Chapter Four--THE JOKERS OF NEW GIBBON + + + + +I + +"I'm almost afraid to take you in to New Gibbon," David Grief said. "It +wasn't until you and the British gave me a free hand and let the place +alone that any results were accomplished." + +Wallenstein, the German Resident Commissioner from Bougainville, poured +himself a long Scotch and soda and smiled. + +"We take off our hats to you, Mr. Grief," he said in perfectly good +English. "What you have done on the devil island is a miracle. And we +shall continue not to interfere. It _is_ a devil island, and old Koho is +the big chief devil of them all. We never could bring him to terms. He +is a liar, and he is no fool. He is a black Napoleon, a head-hunting, +man-eating Talleyrand. I remember six years ago, when I landed there in +the British cruiser. The niggers cleared out for the bush, of course, +but we found several who couldn't get away. One was his latest wife. She +had been hung up by one arm in the sun for two days and nights. We +cut her down, but she died just the same. And staked out in the fresh +running water, up to their necks, were three more women. All their bones +were broken and their joints crushed. The process is supposed to make +them tender for the eating. They were still alive. Their vitality was +remarkable. One woman, the oldest, lingered nearly ten days. Well, that +was a sample of Koho's diet. No wonder he's a wild beast. How you ever +pacified him is our everlasting puzzlement." + +"I wouldn't call him exactly pacified," Grief answered. "Though he comes +in once in a while and eats out of the hand." + +"That's more than we accomplished with our cruisers. Neither the German +nor the English ever laid eyes on him. You were the first." + +"No; McTavish was the first," Grief disclaimed. + +"Ah, yes, I remember him--the little, dried-up Scotchman." Wallenstein +sipped his whiskey. "He's called the Trouble-mender, isn't he?" + +Grief nodded. + +"And they say the screw you pay him is bigger than mine or the British +Resident's?" + +"I'm afraid it is," Grief admitted. "You see, and no offence, he's +really worth it. He spends his time wherever the trouble is. He is a +wizard. He's the one who got me my lodgment on New Gibbon. He's down on +Malaita now, starting a plantation for me." + +"The first?" + +"There's not even a trading station on all Malaita. The recruiters still +use covering boats and carry the old barbed wire above their rails. +There's the plantation now. We'll be in in half an hour." He handed the +binoculars to his guest. "Those are the boat-sheds to the left of the +bungalow. Beyond are the barracks. And to the right are the copra-sheds. +We dry quite a bit already. Old Koho's getting civilized enough to make +his people bring in the nuts. There's the mouth of the stream where you +found the three women softening." + +The _Wonder_, wing-and-wing, was headed directly in for the anchorage. +She rose and fell lazily over a glassy swell flawed here and there by +catspaws from astern. It was the tail-end of the monsoon season, and the +air was heavy and sticky with tropic moisture, the sky a florid, leaden +muss of formless clouds. The rugged land was swathed with cloud-banks +and squall wreaths, through which headlands and interior peaks thrust +darkly. On one promontory a slant of sunshine blazed torridly, on +another, scarcely a mile away, a squall was bursting in furious downpour +of driving rain. + +This was the dank, fat, savage island of New Gibbon, lying fifty miles +to leeward of Choiseul. Geographically, it belonged to the Solomon +Group. Politically, the dividing line of German and British +influence cut it in half, hence the joint control by the two Resident +Commissioners. In the case of New Gibbon, this control existed only on +paper in the colonial offices of the two countries. There was no real +control at all, and never had been. The bche de mer fishermen of +the old days had passed it by. The sandalwood traders, after stern +experiences, had given it up. The blackbirders had never succeeded in +recruiting one labourer on the island, and, after the schooner _Dorset_ +had been cut off with all hands, they left the place severely alone. +Later, a German company had attempted a cocoanut plantation, which was +abandoned after several managers and a number of contract labourers had +lost their heads. German cruisers and British cruisers had failed to +get the savage blacks to listen to reason. Four times the missionary +societies had essayed the peaceful conquest of the island, and four +times, between sickness and massacre, they had been driven away, More +cruisers, more pacifications, had followed, and followed fruitlessly. +The cannibals had always retreated into the bush and laughed at the +screaming shells. When the warships left it was an easy matter +to rebuild the burned grass houses and set up the ovens in the +old-fashioned way. + +New Gibbon was a large island, fully one hundred and fifty miles long +and half as broad. + +Its windward coast was iron-bound, without anchorages or inlets, and it +was inhabited by scores of warring tribes--at least it had been, +until Koho had arisen, like a Kamehameha, and, by force of arms and +considerable statecraft, firmly welded the greater portion of the tribes +into a confederation. His policy of permitting no intercourse with white +men had been eminently right, so far as survival of his own people was +concerned; and after the visit of the last cruiser he had had his own +way until David Grief and McTavish the Trouble-mender landed on the +deserted beach where once had stood the German bungalow and barracks and +the various English mission-houses. + +Followed wars, false peaces, and more wars. The weazened little +Scotchman could make trouble as well as mend it, and, not content with +holding the beach, he imported bushmen from Malaita and invaded the +wild-pig runs of the interior jungle. He burned villages until Koho +wearied of rebuilding them, and when he captured Koho's eldest son he +compelled a conference with the old chief. It was then that McTavish +laid down the rate of head-exchange. For each head of his own people +he promised to take ten of Koho's. After Koho had learned that the +Scotchman was a man of his word, the first true peace was made. In +the meantime McTavish had built the bungalow and barracks, cleared the +jungle-land along the beach, and laid out the plantation. After that +he had gone on his way to mend trouble on the atoll of Tasman, where +a plague of black measles had broken out and been ascribed to Grief's +plantation by the devil-devil doctors. Once, a year later, he had been +called back again to straighten up New Gibbon; and Koho, after paying a +forced fine of two hundred thousand cocoanuts, decided it was cheaper +to keep the peace and sell the nuts. Also, the fires of his youth +had burned down. He was getting old and limped of one leg where a +Lee-Enfield bullet had perforated the calf. + + + + +II + +"I knew a chap in Hawaii," Grief said, "superintendent of a sugar +plantation, who used a hammer and a ten-penny nail." + +They were sitting on the broad bungalow veranda, and watching Worth, the +manager of New Gibbon, doctoring the sick squad. They were New Georgia +boys, a dozen of them, and the one with the aching tooth had been put +back to the last. Worth had just failed in his first attempt. He wiped +the sweat from his forehead with one hand and waved the forceps with the +other. + +"And broke more than one jaw," he asserted grimly. + +Grief shook his head. Wallenstein smiled and elevated his brows. + +"He said not, at any rate," Grief qualified. "He assured me, +furthermore, that he always succeeded on the first trial." + +"I saw it done when I was second mate on a lime-juicer," Captain Ward +spoke up. "The old man used a caulking mallet and a steel marlin-spike. +He took the tooth out with the first stroke, too, clean as a whistle." + +"Me for the forceps," Worth muttered grimly, inserting his own pair in +the mouth of the black. As he pulled, the man groaned and rose in the +air. "Lend a hand, somebody, and hold him down," the manager appealed. + +Grief and Wallenstein, on either side, gripped the black and held him. +And he, in turn, struggled against them and clenched his teeth on the +forceps. The group swayed back and forth. Such exertion, in the stagnant +heat, brought the sweat out on all of them. The black sweated, too, but +his was the sweat of excruciating pain. The chair on which he sat was +overturned. Captain Ward paused in the act of pouring himself a drink, +and called encouragement. Worth pleaded with his assistants to hang +on, and hung on himself, twisting the tooth till it crackled and then +attempting a straightaway pull. + +Nor did any of them notice the little black man who limped up the steps +and stood looking on. Koho was a conservative. His fathers before him +had worn no clothes, and neither did he, not even a gee-string. The many +empty perforations in nose and lips and ears told of decorative passions +long since dead. The holes on both ear-lobes had been torn out, but +their size was attested by the strips of withered flesh that hung down +and swept his shoulders. He cared now only for utility, and in one of +the half dozen minor holes in his right ear he carried a short clay +pipe. Around his waist was buckled a cheap trade-belt, and between the +imitation leather and the naked skin was thrust the naked blade of a +long knife. Suspended from the belt was his bamboo betel-nut and lime +box. In his hand was a short-barrelled, large-bore Snider rifle. He +was indescribably filthy, and here and there marred by scars, the worst +being the one left by the Lee-Enfield bullet, which had withered the +calf to half the size of its mate. His shrunken mouth showed that few +teeth were left to serve him. Face and body were shrunken and withered, +but his black, bead-like eyes, small and close together, were very +bright, withal they were restless and querulous, and more like a +monkey's than a man's. + +He looked on, grinning like a shrewd little ape. His joy in the torment +of the patient was natural, for the world he lived in was a world of +pain. He had endured his share of it, and inflicted far more than his +share on others. When the tooth parted from its locked hold in the jaw +and the forceps raked across the other teeth and out of the mouth with a +nerve-rasping sound, old Koho's eyes fairly sparkled, and he looked +with glee at the poor black, collapsed on the veranda floor and groaning +terribly as he held his head in both his hands. + +"I think he's going to faint," Grief said, bending over the victim. +"Captain Ward, give him a drink, please. You'd better take one yourself, +Worth; you're shaking like a leaf." + +"And I think I'll take one," said Wallenstein, wiping the sweat from his +face. His eye caught the shadow of Koho on the floor and followed it up +to the old chief himself. "Hello! who's this?" + +"Hello, Koho!" Grief said genially, though he knew better than to offer +to shake hands. + +It was one of Koho's _tambos_, given him by the devil-devil doctors when +he was born, that never was his flesh to come in contact with the flesh +of a white man. Worth and Captain Ward, of the _Wonder_, greeted Koho, +but Worth frowned at sight of the Snider, for it was one of his _tambos_ +that no visiting bushman should carry a weapon on the plantation. Rifles +had a nasty way of going off at the hip under such circumstances. The +manager clapped his hands, and a black house-boy, recruited from San +Cristobal, came running. At a sign from Worth, he took the rifle from +the visitor's hand and carried it inside the bungalow. + +"Koho," Grief said, introducing the German Resident, "this big fella +marster belong Bougainville--my word, big fella marster too much." + +Koho, remembering the visits of the various German cruisers, smiled with +a light of unpleasant reminiscence in his eyes. + +"Don't shake hands with him, Wallenstein," Grief warned. "_Tambo_, you +know." Then to Koho, "My word, you get 'm too much fat stop along you. +Bime by you marry along new fella Mary, eh?" + +"Too old fella me," Koho answered, with a weary shake of the head. "Me +no like 'm Mary. Me no like 'm _kai-kai_ (food). Close up me die along +altogether." He stole a significant glance at Worth, whose head was +tilted back to a long glass. "Me like 'm rum." + +Grief shook his head. + +"_Tambo_ along black fella." + +"He black fella no tambo," Koho retorted, nodding toward the groaning +labourer. + +"He fella sick," Grief explained. + +"Me fella sick." + +"You fella big liar," Grief laughed. "Rum tambo, all the time tambo. +Now, Koho, we have big fella talk along this big fella mar-ster." + +And he and Wallenstein and the old chief sat down on the veranda to +confer about affairs of state. Koho was complimented on the peace he +had kept, and he, with many protestations of his aged decrepitude, swore +peace again and everlasting. Then was discussed the matter of starting a +German plantation twenty miles down the coast. The land, of course, was +to be bought from Koho, and the price was arranged in terms of tobacco, +knives, beads, pipes, hatchets, porpoise teeth and shell-money--in terms +of everything except rum. While the talk went on, Koho, glancing through +the window, could see Worth mixing medicines and placing bottles back in +the medicine cupboard. Also, he saw the manager complete his labours by +taking a drink of Scotch. Koho noted the bottle carefully. And, though +he hung about for an hour after the conference was over, there was never +a moment when some one or another was not in the room. When Grief and +Worth sat down to a business talk, Koho gave it up. + +"Me go along schooner," he announced, then turned and limped out. + +"How are the mighty fallen," Grief laughed. "To think that used to be +Koho, the fiercest red-handed murderer in the Solomons, who defied all +his life two of the greatest world powers. And now he's going aboard to +try and cadge Denby for a drink." + + + + +III + +For the last time in his life the supercargo of the _Wonder_ perpetrated +a practical joke on a native. He was in the main cabin, checking off the +list of goods being landed in the whaleboats, when Koho limped down the +com-panionway and took a seat opposite him at the table. + +"Close up me die along altogether," was the burden of the old chief's +plaint. All the delights of the flesh had forsaken him. "Me no like +'m Mary. Me no like 'm _kai-kai_. Me too much sick fella. Me close up +finish." A long, sad pause, in which his face expressed unutterable +concern for his stomach, which he patted gingerly and with an assumption +of pain. "Belly belong me too much sick." Another pause, which was an +invitation to Denby to make suggestions. Then followed a long, weary, +final sigh, and a "Me like 'm rum." + +Denby laughed heartlessly. He had been cadged for drinks before by the +old cannibal, and the sternest _tambo_ Grief and McTavish had laid down +was the one forbidding alcohol to the natives of New Gibbon. + +The trouble was that Koho had acquired the taste. In his younger days +he had learned the delights of drunkenness when he cut off the schooner +_Dorset_, but unfortunately he had learned it along with all his +tribesmen, and the supply had not held out long. Later, when he led his +naked warriors down to the destruction of the German plantation, he was +wiser, and he appropriated all the liquors for his sole use. The result +had been a gorgeous mixed drunk, on a dozen different sorts of drink, +ranging from beer doctored with quinine to absinthe and apricot brandy. +The drunk had lasted for months, and it had left him with a thirst that +would remain with him until he died. Predisposed toward alcohol, after +the way of savages, all the chemistry of his flesh clamoured for it. +This craving was to him expressed in terms of tingling and sensation, of +maggots crawling warmly and deliciously in his brain, of good feeling, +and well being, and high exultation. And in his barren old age, when +women and feasting were a weariness, and when old hates had smouldered +down, he desired more and more the revivifying fire that came liquid out +of bottles--out of all sorts of bottles--for he remembered them well. +He would sit in the sun for hours, occasionally drooling, in mournful +contemplation of the great orgy which had been his when the German +plantation was cleaned out. + +Denby was sympathetic. He sought out the old chief's symptoms and +offered him dyspeptic tablets from the medicine chest, pills, and +a varied assortment of harmless tabloids and capsules. But Koho +steadfastly declined. Once, when he cut the _Dorset_ off, he had bitten +through a capsule of quinine; in addition, two of his warriors had +partaken of a white powder and laid down and died very violently in a +very short time. No; he did not believe in drugs. But the liquids from +bottles, the cool-flaming youth-givers and warm-glowing dream-makers. No +wonder the white men valued them so highly and refused to dispense them. + +"Rum he good fella," he repeated over and over, plaintively and with the +weary patience of age. + +And then Denby made his mistake and played his joke. Stepping around +behind Koho, he unlocked the medicine closet and took out a four-ounce +bottle labelled _essence of mustard_. As he made believe to draw the +cork and drink of the contents, in the mirror on the for'ard bulkhead he +glimpsed Koho, twisted half around, intently watching him. Denby smacked +his lips and cleared his throat appreciatively as he replaced the +bottle. Neglecting to relock the medicine closet, he returned to his +chair, and, after a decent interval, went on deck. He stood beside the +companionway and listened. After several moments the silence below was +broken by a fearful, wheezing, propulsive, strangling cough. He smiled +to himself and returned leisurely down the companionway. The bottle was +back on the shelf where it belonged, and the old man sat in the same +position. Denby marvelled at his iron control. Mouth and lips and +tongue, and all sensitive membranes, were a blaze of fire. He gasped +and nearly coughed several times, while involuntary tears brimmed in +his eyes and ran down his cheeks. An ordinary man would have coughed and +strangled for half an hour. But old Koho's face was grimly composed. It +dawned on him that a trick had been played, and into his eyes came an +expression of hatred and malignancy so primitive, so abysmal, that it +sent the chills up and down Denby's spine. Koho arose proudly. + +"Me go along," he said. "You sing out one fella boat stop along me." + + + + +IV + +Having seen Grief and Worth start for a ride over the plantation, +Wallenstein sat down in the big living-room and with gun-oil and old +rags proceeded to take apart and clean his automatic pistol. On the +table beside him stood the inevitable bottle of Scotch and numerous soda +bottles. Another bottle, part full, chanced to stand there. It was also +labelled Scotch, but its content was liniment which Worth had mixed for +the horses and neglected to put away. + +As Wallenstein worked, he glanced through the window and saw Koho coming +up the compound path. He was limping very rapidly, but when he came +along the veranda and entered the room his gait was slow and dignified. +He sat down and watched the gun-cleaning, Though mouth and lips and +tongue were afire, he gave no sign. At the end of five minutes he spoke. + +"Rum he good fella. Me like 'm rum." Wallenstein smiled and shook his +head, and then it was that his perverse imp suggested what was to be his +last joke on a native. The similarity of the two bottles was the real +suggestion. He laid his pistol parts on the table and mixed himself +a long drink. Standing as he did between Koho and the table, he +interchanged the two bottles, drained his glass, made as if to search +for something, and left the room. From outside he heard the surprised +splutter and cough; but when he returned the old chief sat as before. +The liniment in the bottle, however, was lower, and it still oscillated. + +Koho stood up, clapped his hands, and, when the house-boy answered, +signed that he desired his rifle. The boy fetched the weapon, and +according to custom preceded the visitor down the pathway. Not +until outside the gate did the boy turn the rifle over to its owner. +Wallenstein, chuckling to himself, watched the old chief limp along the +beach in the direction of the river. + +A few minutes later, as he put his pistol together, Wallenstein heard +the distant report of a gun. For the instant he thought of Koho, then +dismissed the conjecture from his mind. Worth and Grief had taken +shotguns with them, and it was probably one of their shots at a pigeon. +Wallenstein lounged back in his chair, chuckled, twisted his yellow +mustache, and dozed. He was aroused by the excited voice of Worth, +crying out: + +"Ring the big fella bell! Ring plenty too much! Ring like hell!" + +Wallenstein gained the veranda in time to see the manager jump his horse +over the low fence of the compound and dash down the beach after Grief, +who was riding madly ahead. A loud crackling and smoke rising through +the cocoanut trees told the story. The boat-houses and the barracks +were on fire. The big plantation bell was ringing wildly as the German +Resident ran down the beach, and he could see whaleboats hastily putting +off from the schooner. + +Barracks and boat-houses, grass-thatched and like tinder, were wrapped +in flames. Grief emerged from the kitchen, carrying a naked black child +by the leg. Its head was missing. + +"The cook's in there," he told Worth. "Her head's gone, too. She was too +heavy, and I had to clear out." + +"It was my fault," Wallenstein said. "Old Koho did it. But I let him +take a drink of Worth's horse liniment." + +"I guess he's headed for the bush," Worth said, springing astride his +horse and starting. "Oliver is down there by the river. Hope he didn't +get _him_." + +The manager galloped away through the trees. A few minutes later, as +the charred wreck of the barracks crashed in, they heard him calling and +followed. On the edge of the river bank they came upon him. He still sat +on his horse, very white-faced, and gazed at something on the ground. It +was the body of Oliver, the young assistant manager, though it was hard +to realize it, for the head was gone. The black labourers, breathless +from their run in from the fields, were now crowding around, and under +conches to-night, and the war-drums, "all merry hell will break loose. +They won't rush us, but keep all the boys close up to the house, Mr. +Worth. Come on!" + +As they returned along the path they came upon a black who whimpered and +cried vociferously. + +"Shut up mouth belong you!" Worth shouted. "What name you make 'm +noise?" + +"Him fella Koho finish along two fella bulla-macow," the black answered, +drawing a forefinger significantly across his throat. + +"He's knifed the cows," Grief said. "That means no more milk for some +time for you, Worth. I'll see about sending a couple up from Ugi." + +Wallenstein proved inconsolable, until Denby, coming ashore, confessed +to the dose of essence of mustard. Thereat the German Resident became +even cheerful, though he twisted his yellow mustache up more fiercely +and continued to curse the Solomons with oaths culled from four +languages. + +Next morning, visible from the masthead of the _Wonder_, the bush +was alive with signal-smokes. From promontory to promontory, and back +through the solid jungle, the smoke-pillars curled and puffed and +talked. Remote villages on the higher peaks, beyond the farthest raids +McTavish had ever driven, joined in the troubled conversation. From +across the river persisted a bedlam of conches; while from everywhere, +drifting for miles along the quiet air, came the deep, booming +reverberations of the great war-drums--huge tree trunks, hollowed by +fire and carved with tools of stone and shell. "You're all right as long +as you stay close," Grief told his manager. "I've got to get along +to Guvutu. They won't come out in the open and attack you. Keep the +work-gangs close. Stop the clearing till this blows over. They'll get +any detached gangs you send out. And, whatever you do, don't be fooled +into going into the bush after Koho. If you do, he'll get you. All +you've got to do is wait for McTavish. I'll send him up with a bunch of +his Malaita bush-men. He's the only man who can go inside. Also, until +he comes, I'll leave Denby with you. You don't mind, do you, Mr. Denby? +I'll send McTavish up with the _Wanda_, and you can go back on her and +rejoin the _Wonder_. Captain Ward can manage without you for a trip." + +"It was just what I was going to volunteer," Denby answered. "I never +dreamed all this muss would be kicked up over a joke. You see, in a way +I consider myself responsible for it." + +"So am I responsible," Wallenstein broke in. + +"But I started it," the supercargo urged. + +"Maybe you did, but I carried it along." + +"And Koho finished it," Grief said. + +"At any rate, I, too, shall remain," said the German. + +"I thought you were coming to Guvutu with me," Grief protested. + +"I was. But this is my jurisdiction, partly, and I have made a fool of +myself in it completely. I shall remain and help get things straight +again." + +At Guvutu, Grief sent full instructions to McTavish by a recruiting +ketch which was just starting for Malaita. Captain Ward sailed in the +_Wonder_ for the Santa Cruz Islands; and Grief, borrowing a whaleboat +and a crew of black prisoners from the British Resident, crossed the +channel to Guadalcanar, to examine the grass lands back of Penduffryn. + +Three weeks later, with a free sheet and a lusty breeze, he threaded the +coral patches and surged up the smooth water to Guvutu anchorage. The +harbour was deserted, save for a small ketch which lay close in to the +shore reef. Grief recognized it as the _Wanda_. She had evidently just +got in by the Tulagi Passage, for her black crew was still at work +furling the sails. As he rounded alongside, McTavish himself extended a +hand to help him over the rail. + +"What's the matter?" Grief asked. "Haven't you started yet?" + +McTavish nodded. "And got back. Everything's all right on board." + +"How's New Gibbon?" + +"All there, the last I saw of it, barrin' a few inconsequential frills +that a good eye could make out lacking from the landscape." + +He was a cold flame of a man, small as Koho, and as dried up, with a +mahogany complexion and small, expressionless blue eyes that were more +like gimlet-points than the eyes of a Scotchman. Without fear, without +enthusiasm, impervious to disease and climate and sentiment, he was lean +and bitter and deadly as a snake. That his present sour look boded ill +news, Grief was well aware. + +"Spit it out!" he said. "What's happened?" + +"'Tis a thing severely to be condemned, a damned shame, this joking with +heathen niggers," was the reply. "Also, 'tis very expensive. Come below, +Mr. Grief. You'll be better for the information with a long glass in +your hand. After you." + +"How did you settle things?" his employer demanded as soon as they were +seated in the cabin. + +The little Scotchman shook his head. "There was nothing to settle. It +all depends how you look at it. The other way would be to say it was +settled, entirely settled, mind you, before I got there." + +"But the plantation, man? The plantation?" + +"No plantation. All the years of our work have gone for naught. 'Tis +back where we started, where the missionaries started, where the Germans +started--and where they finished. Not a stone stands on another at the +landing pier. The houses are black ashes. Every tree is hacked down, and +the wild pigs are rooting out the yams and sweet potatoes. Those boys +from New Georgia, a fine bunch they were, five score of them, and they +cost you a pretty penny. Not one is left to tell the tale." + +He paused and began fumbling in a large locker under the +companion-steps. + +"But Worth? And Denby? And Wallenstein?" + +"That's what I'm telling you. Take a look." + +McTavish dragged out a sack made of rice matting and emptied its +contents on the floor. David Grief pulled himself together with a jerk, +for he found himself gazing fascinated at the heads of the three men he +had left at New Gibbon. The yellow mustache of Wallenstein had lost its +fierce curl and drooped and wilted on the upper lip. + +"I don't know how it happened," the Scotchman's voice went on drearily. +"But I surmise they went into the bush after the old devil." + +"And where is Koho?" Grief asked. + +"Back in the bush and drunk as a lord. That's how I was able to recover +the heads. He was too drunk to stand. They lugged him on their backs out +of the village when I rushed it. And if you'll relieve me of the heads, +I'll be well obliged." He paused and sighed. "I suppose they'll have +regular funerals over them and put them in the ground. But in my way of +thinking they'd make excellent curios. Any respectable museum would pay +a hundred quid apiece. Better have another drink. You're looking a bit +pale---- There, put that down you, and if you'll take my advice, Mr. +Grief, I would say, set your face sternly against any joking with +the niggers. It always makes trouble, and it is a very expensive +divertisement." + + + + + +Chapter Five--A LITTLE ACCOUNT WITH SWITHIN HALL + + + + +I + +With a last long scrutiny at the unbroken circle of the sea, David Grief +swung out of the cross-trees and slowly and dejectedly descended the +ratlines to the deck. + +"Leu-Leu Atoll is sunk, Mr. Snow," he said to the anxious-faced young +mate. "If there is anything in navigation, the atoll is surely under the +sea, for we've sailed clear over it twice--or the spot where it ought to +be. It's either that or the chronometer's gone wrong, or I've forgotten +my navigation." + +"It must be the chronometer, sir," the mate reassured his owner. "You +know I made separate sights and worked them up, and that they agreed +with yours." + +"Yes," Grief muttered, nodding glumly, "and where your Summer lines +crossed, and mine, too, was the dead centre of Leu-Leu Atoll. It must be +the chronometer--slipped a cog or something." + +He made a short pace to the rail and back, and cast a troubled eye at +the _Uncle Toby's_ wake. The schooner, with a fairly strong breeze on +her quarter, was logging nine or ten knots. + +"Better bring her up on the wind, Mr. Snow. Put her under easy sail and +let her work to windward on two-hour legs. It's thickening up, and I +don't imagine we can get a star observation to-night; so we'll just hold +our weather position, get a latitude sight to-morrow, and run Leu-Leu +down on her own latitude. That's the way all the old navigators did." + +Broad of beam, heavily sparred, with high freeboard and bluff, Dutchy +bow, the _Uncle Toby_ was the slowest, tubbiest, safest, and most +fool-proof schooner David Grief possessed. Her run was in the Banks and +Santa Cruz groups and to the northwest among the several isolated atolls +where his native traders collected copra, hawksbill turtle, and +an occasional ton of pearl shell. Finding the skipper down with a +particularly bad stroke of fever, Grief had relieved him and taken the +_Uncle Toby_ on her semiannual run to the atolls. He had elected to make +his first call at Leu-Leu, which lay farthest, and now found himself +lost at sea with a chronometer that played tricks. + + + + +II + +No stars showed that night, nor was the sun visible next day. A stuffy, +sticky calm obtained, broken by big wind-squalls and heavy downpours. +From fear of working too far to windward, the Uncle Toby was hove to, +and four days and nights of cloud-hidden sky followed. Never did the sun +appear, and on the several occasions that stars broke through they were +too dim and fleeting for identification. By this time it was patent to +the veriest tyro that the elements were preparing to break loose. Grief, +coming on deck from consulting the barometer, which steadfastly remained +at 29.90, encountered Jackie-Jackie, whose face was as brooding +and troublous as the sky and air. Jackie-Jackie, a Tongan sailor of +experience, served as a sort of bosun and semi-second mate over the +mixed Kanaka crew. + +"Big weather he come, I think," he said. "I see him just the same before +maybe five, six times." + +Grief nodded. "Hurricane weather, all right, Jackie-Jackie. Pretty soon +barometer go down--bottom fall out." + +"Sure," the Tongan concurred. "He goin' to blow like hell." + +Ten minutes later Snow came on deck. + +"She's started," he said; "29.85, going down and pumping at the same +time. It's stinking hot--don't you notice it?" He brushed his forehead +with his hands. "It's sickening. I could lose my breakfast without +trying." + +Jackie-Jackie grinned. "Just the same me. Everything inside walk about. +Always this way before big blow. But _Uncle Toby_ all right. He go +through anything." + +"Better rig that storm-trysail on the main, and a storm-jib," Grief said +to the mate. "And put all the reefs into the working canvas before you +furl down. No telling what we may need. Put on double gaskets while +you're about it." + +In another hour, the sultry oppressiveness steadily increasing and the +stark calm still continuing, the barometer had fallen to 29.70. The +mate, being young, lacked the patience of waiting for the portentous. He +ceased his restless pacing, and waved his arms. + +"If she's going to come let her come!" he cried. "There's no use +shilly-shallying this way! Whatever the worst is, let us know it and +have it! A pretty pickle--lost with a crazy chronometer and a hurricane +that won't blow!" + +The cloud-mussed sky turned to a vague copper colour, and seemed to +glow as the inside of a huge heated caldron. Nobody remained below. The +native sailors formed in anxious groups amidships and for'ard, where +they talked in low voices and gazed apprehensively at the ominous +sky and the equally ominous sea that breathed in long, low, oily +undulations. + +"Looks like petroleum mixed with castor oil," the mate grumbled, as he +spat his disgust overside. "My mother used to dose me with messes like +that when I was a kid. Lord, she's getting black!" + +The lurid coppery glow had vanished, and the sky thickened and lowered +until the darkness was as that of a late twilight. David Grief, who +well knew the hurricane rules, nevertheless reread the "Laws of Storms," +screwing his eyes in the faint light in order to see the print. There +was nothing to be done save wait for the wind, so that he might know +how he lay in relation to the fast-flying and deadly centre that from +somewhere was approaching out of the gloom. + +It was three in the afternoon, and the glass had sunk to 29:45, when +the wind came. They could see it on the water, darkening the face of the +sea, crisping tiny whitecaps as it rushed along. It was merely a stiff +breeze, and the _Uncle Toby_, filling away under her storm canvas till +the wind was abeam, sloshed along at a four-knot gait. + +"No weight to that," Snow sneered. "And after such grand preparation!" + +"Pickaninny wind," Jackie-Jackie agreed. "He grow big man pretty quick, +you see." + +Grief ordered the foresail put on, retaining the reefs, and the _Uncle +Toby_ mended her pace in the rising breeze. The wind quickly grew to +man's size, but did not stop there. It merely blew hard, and harder, and +kept on blowing harder, advertising each increase by lulls followed by +fierce, freshening gusts. Ever it grew, until the _Uncle Toby's_ rail +was more often pressed under than not, while her waist boiled with +foaming water which the scuppers could not carry off. Grief studied the +barometer, still steadily falling. + +"The centre is to the southward," he told Snow, "and we're running +across its path and into it. Now we'll turn about and run the other way. +That ought to bring the glass up. Take in the foresail--it's more than +she can carry already--and stand by to wear her around." + +The maneuver was accomplished, and through the gloom that was almost +that of the first darkness of evening the _Uncle Toby_ turned and raced +madly north across the face of the storm. + +"It's nip and tuck," Grief confided to the mate a couple of hours +later. "The storm's swinging a big curve--there's no calculating that +curve--and we may win across or the centre may catch us. Thank the Lord, +the glass is holding its own. It all depends on how big the curve is. +The sea's too big for us to keep on. Heave her to! She'll keep working +along out anyway." + +"I thought I knew what wind was," Snow shouted in his owner's ear next +morning. "This isn't wind. It's something unthinkable. It's impossible. +It must reach ninety or a hundred miles an hour in the gusts. That don't +mean anything. How could I ever tell it to anybody? I couldn't. And look +at that sea! I've run my Easting down, but I never saw anything like +that." + +Day had come, and the sun should have been up an hour, yet the best +it could produce was a sombre semi-twilight. The ocean was a stately +procession of moving mountains. A third of a mile across yawned the +valleys between the great waves. Their long slopes, shielded somewhat +from the full fury of the wind, were broken by systems of smaller +whitecapping waves, but from the high crests of the big waves themselves +the wind tore the whitecaps in the forming. This spume drove masthead +high, and higher, horizontally, above the surface of the sea. + +"We're through the worst," was Grief's judgment. "The glass is coming +along all the time. The sea will get bigger as the wind eases down. I'm +going to turn in. Watch for shifts in the wind. They'll be sure to come. +Call me at eight bells." + +By mid-afternoon, in a huge sea, with the wind after its last shift no +more than a stiff breeze, the Tongan bosun sighted a schooner bottom +up. The _Uncle Toby's_ drift took them across the bow and they could +not make out the name; but before night they picked up with a small, +round-bottom, double-ender boat, swamped but with white lettering +visible on its bow. Through the binoculars, Gray made out: _Emily L No. +3_. + +"A sealing schooner," Grief said. "But what a sealer's doing in these +waters is beyond me." + +"Treasure-hunters, maybe?" Snow speculated. "The _Sophie Sutherland_ and +the _Herman_ were sealers, you remember, chartered out of San Francisco +by the chaps with the maps who can always go right to the spot until +they get there and don't." + + + + +III + +After a giddy night of grand and lofty tumbling, in which, over a big +and dying sea, without a breath of wind to steady her, the Uncle Toby +rolled every person on board sick of soul, a light breeze sprang up +and the reefs were shaken out. By midday, on a smooth ocean floor, the +clouds thinned and cleared and sights of the sun were obtained. Two +degrees and fifteen minutes south, the observation gave them. With a +broken chronometer longitude was out of the question. + +"We're anywhere within five hundred and a thousand miles along that +latitude line," Grief remarked, as he and the mate bent over the chart. + +"Leu-Leu is to the south'ard somewhere, and this section of ocean is all +blank. There is neither an island nor a reef by which we can regulate +the chronometer. The only thing to do--" + +"Land ho, skipper!" the Tongan called down the companionway. + +Grief took a quick glance at the empty blank of the chart, whistled his +surprise, and sank back feebly in a chair. + +"It gets me," he said. "There can't be land around here. We never +drifted or ran like that. The whole voyage has been crazy. Will you +kindly go up, Mr. Snow, and see what's ailing Jackie." + +"It's land all right," the mate called down a minute afterward. "You can +see it from the deck--tops of cocoanuts--an atoll of some sort. Maybe +it's Leu-Leu after all." + +Grief shook his head positively as he gazed at the fringe of palms, only +the tops visible, apparently rising out of the sea. + +"Haul up on the wind, Mr. Snow, close-and-by, and we'll take a look. +We can just reach past to the south, and if it spreads off in that +direction we'll hit the southwest corner." + +Very near must palms be to be seen from the low deck of a schooner, and, +slowly as the _Uncle Toby_ sailed, she quickly raised the low land above +the sea, while more palms increased the definition of the atoll circle. + +"She's a beauty," the mate remarked. "A perfect circle.... Looks as if +it might be eight or nine miles across.... Wonder if there's an entrance +to the lagoon.... Who knows? Maybe it's a brand new find." + +They coasted up the west side of the atoll, making short tacks in to +the surf-pounded coral rock and out again. From the masthead, across +the palm-fringe, a Kanaka announced the lagoon and a small island in the +middle. + +"I know what you're thinking," Grief said to his mate. + +Snow, who had been muttering and shaking his head, looked up with quick +and challenging incredulity. + +"You're thinking the entrance will be on the northwest." Grief went on, +as if reciting. + +"Two cable lengths wide, marked on the north by three separated +cocoanuts, and on the south by pandanus trees. Eight miles in diameter, +a perfect circle, with an island in the dead centre." + +"I _was_ thinking that," Snow acknowledged. + +"And there's the entrance opening up just where it ought to be----" + +"And the three palms," Snow almost whispered, "and the pandanus trees. +If there's a windmill on the island, it's it--Swithin Hall's island. But +it can't be. Everybody's been looking for it for the last ten years." + +"Hall played you a dirty trick once, didn't he?" Grief queried. + +Snow nodded. "That's why I'm working for you. He broke me flat. It was +downright robbery. I bought the wreck of the _Cascade_, down in Sydney, +out of a first instalment of a legacy from home." + +"She went on Christmas Island, didn't she?" + +"Yes, full tilt, high and dry, in the night. They saved the passengers +and mails. Then I bought a little island schooner, which took the rest +of my money, and I had to wait the final payment by the executors to fit +her out. What did Swithin Hall do--he was at Honolulu at the time--but +make a straightaway run for Christmas Island. Neither right nor title +did he have. When I got there, the hull and engines were all that was +left of the _Cascade_. She had had a fair shipment of silk on board, +too. And it wasn't even damaged. I got it afterward pretty straight from +his supercargo. He cleared something like sixty thousand dollars." + +Snow shrugged his shoulders and gazed bleakly at the smooth surface of +the lagoon, where tiny wavelets danced in the afternoon sun. + +"The wreck was mine. I bought her at public auction. I'd gambled big, +and I'd lost. When I got back to Sydney, the crew, and some of the +tradesmen who'd extended me credit, libelled the schooner. I pawned +my watch and sextant, and shovelled coal one spell, and finally got a +billet in the New Hebrides on a screw of eight pounds a month. Then I +tried my luck as independent trader, went broke, took a mate's billet on +a recruiter down to Tanna and over to Fiji, got a job as overseer on a +German plantation back of Apia, and finally settled down on the _Uncle +Toby_." + +"Have you ever met Swithin Hall?" + +Snow shook his head. + +"Well, you're likely to meet him now. There's the windmill." + +In the centre of the lagoon, as they emerged from the passage, they +opened a small, densely wooded island, among the trees of which a large +Dutch windmill showed plainly. + +"Nobody at home from the looks of it," Grief said, "or you might have a +chance to collect." + +The mate's face set vindictively, and his fists clenched. + +"Can't touch him legally. He's got too much money now. But I can take +sixty thousand dollars' worth out of his hide. I hope he is at home." + +"Then I hope he is, too," Grief said, with an appreciative smile. "You +got the description of his island from Bau-Oti, I suppose?" + +"Yes, as pretty well everybody else has. The trouble is that Bau-Oti +can't give latitude or longitude. Says they sailed a long way from the +Gilberts--that's all he knows. I wonder what became of him." + +"I saw him a year ago on the beach at Tahiti. Said he was thinking about +shipping for a cruise through the Paumotus. Well, here we are, getting +close in. Heave the lead, Jackie-Jackie. Stand by to let go, Mr. Snow. +According to Bau-Oti, anchorage three hundred yards off the west shore +in nine fathoms, coral patches to the southeast. There are the patches. +What do you get, Jackie?" + +"Nine fadom." + +"Let go, Mr. Snow." + +The _Uncle Toby_ swung to her chain, head-sails ran down, and the Kanaka +crew sprang to fore and main-halyards and sheets. + + + + +IV + +The whaleboat laid alongside the small, coral-stone landing-pier, and +David Grief and his mate stepped ashore. + +"You'd think the place deserted," Grief said, as they walked up a sanded +path to the bungalow. "But I smell a smell that I've often smelled. +Something doing, or my nose is a liar. The lagoon is carpeted with +shell. They're rotting the meat out not a thousand miles away. Get that +whiff?" + +Like no bungalow in the tropics was this bungalow of Swithin Hall. Of +mission architecture, when they had entered through the unlatched screen +door they found decoration and furniture of the same mission style. The +floor of the big living-room was covered with the finest Samoan mats. +There were couches, window seats, cozy corners, and a billiard table. A +sewing table, and a sewing-basket, spilling over with sheer linen in the +French embroidery of which stuck a needle, tokened a woman's presence. +By screen and veranda the blinding sunshine was subdued to a cool, dim +radiance. The sheen of pearl push-buttons caught Grief's eye. + +"Storage batteries, by George, run by the windmill!" he exclaimed as he +pressed the buttons. "And concealed lighting!" + +Hidden bowls glowed, and the room was filled with diffused golden light. +Many shelves of books lined the walls. Grief fell to running over +their titles. A fairly well-read man himself, for a sea-adventurer, he +glimpsed a wide-ness of range and catholicity of taste that were beyond +him. Old friends he met, and others that he had heard of but never read. +There were complete sets of Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Gorky; of Cooper +and Mark Twain; of Hugo, and Zola, and Sue; and of Flaubert, De +Maupassant, and Paul de Koch. He glanced curiously at the pages of +Metchnikoff, Weininger, and Schopenhauer, and wonderingly at those +of Ellis, Lydston, Krafft-Ebbing, and Forel. Woodruff's "Expansion of +Races" was in his hands when Snow returned from further exploration of +the house. + +"Enamelled bath-tub, separate room for a shower, and a sitz-bath!" he +exclaimed. "Fitted up for a king! And I reckon some of my money went to +pay for it. The place must be occupied. I found fresh-opened butter and +milk tins in the pantry, and fresh turtle-meat hanging up. I'm going to +see what else I can find." + +Grief, too, departed, through a door that led out of the opposite end +of the living-room. He found himself in a self-evident woman's bedroom. +Across it, he peered through a wire-mesh door into a screened and +darkened sleeping porch. On a couch lay a woman asleep. In the soft +light she seemed remarkably beautiful in a dark Spanish way. By her +side, opened and face downward, a novel lay on a chair. From the +colour in her cheeks, Grief concluded that she had not been long in the +tropics. After the one glimpse he stole softly back, in time to see Snow +entering the living-room through the other door. By the naked arm he was +clutching an age-wrinkled black who grinned in fear and made signs of +dumbness. + +"I found him snoozing in a little kennel out back," the mate said. "He's +the cook, I suppose. Can't get a word out of him. What did you find?" + +"A sleeping princess. S-sh! There's somebody now." + +"If it's Hall," Snow muttered, clenching his fist. + +Grief shook his head. "No rough-house. There's a woman here. And if it +is Hall, before we go I'll maneuver a chance for you to get action." + +The door opened, and a large, heavily built man entered. In his belt was +a heavy, long-barrelled Colt's. One quick, anxious look he gave them, +then his face wreathed in a genial smile and his hand was extended. + +"Welcome, strangers. But if you don't mind my asking, how, by all that's +sacred, did you ever manage to find my island?" + +"Because we were out of our course," Grief answered, shaking hands. + +"My name's Hall, Swithin Hall," the other said, turning to shake Snow's +hand. "And I don't mind telling you that you're the first visitors I've +ever had." + +"And this is your secret island that's had all the beaches talking for +years?" Grief answered. "Well, I know the formula now for finding it." + +"How's that?" Hall asked quickly. + +"Smash your chronometer, get mixed up with a hurricane, and then keep +your eyes open for cocoanuts rising out of the sea." + +"And what is your name?" Hall asked, after he had laughed perfunctorily. + +"Anstey--Phil Anstey," Grief answered promptly. "Bound on the _Uncle +Toby_ from the Gilberts to New Guinea, and trying to find my longitude. +This is my mate, Mr. Gray, a better navigator than I, but who has lost +his goat just the same to the chronometer." + +Grief did not know his reason for lying, but he had felt the prompting +and succumbed to it. He vaguely divined that something was wrong, but +could not place his finger on it. Swithin Hall was a fat, round-faced +man, with a laughing lip and laughter-wrinkles in the corners of his +eyes. But Grief, in his early youth, had learned how deceptive this type +could prove, as well as the deceptiveness of blue eyes that screened the +surface with fun and hid what went on behind. + +"What are you doing with my cook?--lost yours and trying to shanghai +him?" Hall was saying. "You'd better let him go, if you're going to have +any supper. My wife's here, and she'll be glad to meet you--dinner, she +calls it, and calls me down for misnaming it, but I'm old fashioned. My +folks always ate dinner in the middle of the day. Can't get over early +training. Don't you want to wash up? I do. Look at me. I've been working +like a dog--out with the diving crew--shell, you know. But of course you +smelt it." + + + + +V + +Snow pleaded charge of the schooner, and went on board. In addition to +his repugnance at breaking salt with the man who had robbed him, it was +necessary for him to impress the in-violableness of Grief's lies on the +Kanaka crew. By eleven o'clock Grief came on board, to find his mate +waiting up for him. + +"There's something doing on Swithin Hall's island," Grief said, shaking +his head. "I can't make out what it is, but I get the feel of it. What +does Swithin Hall look like?" + +Snow shook his head. + +"That man ashore there never bought the books on the shelves," Grief +declared with conviction. "Nor did he ever go in for concealed lighting. +He's got a surface flow of suavity, but he's rough as a hoof-rasp +underneath. He's an oily bluff. And the bunch he's got with him--Watson +and Gorman their names are; they came in after you left--real sea-dogs, +middle-aged, marred and battered, tough as rusty wrought-iron nails and +twice as dangerous; real ugly customers, with guns in their belts, who +don't strike me as just the right sort to be on such comradely terms +with Swithin Hall. And the woman! She's a lady. I mean it. She knows a +whole lot of South America, and of China, too. I'm sure she's Spanish, +though her English is natural. She's travelled. We talked bull-fights. +She's seen them in Guayaquil, in Mexico, in Seville. She knows a lot +about sealskins. + +"Now here's what bothers me. She knows music. I asked her if she played. +And he's fixed that place up like a palace. That being so, why hasn't +he a piano for her? Another thing: she's quick and lively and he watches +her whenever she talks. He's on pins and needles, and continually +breaking in and leading the conversation. Say, did you ever hear that +Swithin Hall was married?" + +"Bless me, I don't know," the mate replied. "Never entered my head to +think about it." + +"He introduced her as Mrs. Hall. And Watson and Gorman call him Hall. +They're a precious pair, those two men. I don't understand it at all." + +"What are you going to do about it?" Snow asked. + +"Oh, hang around a while. There are some books ashore there I want to +read. Suppose you send that topmast down in the morning and generally +overhaul. We've been through a hurricane, you know. Set up the rigging +while you're about it. Get things pretty well adrift, and take your +time." + + + + +VI + +The next day Grief's suspicions found further food. Ashore early, +he strolled across the little island to the barracks occupied by the +divers. + +They were just boarding the boats when he arrived, and it struck him +that for Kanakas they behaved more like chain-gang prisoners. The three +white men were there, and Grief noted that each carried a rifle. Hall +greeted him jovially enough, but Gorman and Watson scowled as they +grunted curt good mornings. + +A moment afterward one of the Kanakas, as he bent to place his oar, +favoured Grief with a slow, deliberate wink. The man's face was +familiar, one of the thousands of native sailors and divers he had +encountered drifting about in the island trade. + +"Don't tell them who I am," Grief said, in Tahitian. "Did you ever sail +for me?" + +The man's head nodded and his mouth opened, but before he could speak +he was suppressed by a savage "Shut up!" from Watson, who was already in +the sternsheets. + +"I beg pardon," Grief said. "I ought to have known better." + +"That's all right," Hall interposed. "The trouble is they're too much +talk and not enough work. Have to be severe with them, or they wouldn't +get enough shell to pay their grub." + +Grief nodded sympathetically. "I know them. Got a crew of them +myself--the lazy swine. Got to drive them like niggers to get a +half-day's work out of them." + +"What was you sayin' to him?" Gorman blurted in bluntly. + +"I was asking how the shell was, and how deep they were diving." + +"Thick," Hall took over the answering. "We're working now in about ten +fathom. It's right out there, not a hundred yards off. Want to come +along?" + +Half the day Grief spent with the boats, and had lunch in the bungalow. +In the afternoon he loafed, taking a siesta in the big living-room, +reading some, and talking for half an hour with Mrs. Hall. After dinner, +he played billiards with her husband. It chanced that Grief had never +before encountered Swithin Hall, yet the latter's fame as an expert at +billiards was the talk of the beaches from Levuka to Honolulu. But the +man Grief played with this night proved most indifferent at the game. +His wife showed herself far cleverer with the cue. + +When he went on board the _Uncle Toby_ Grief routed Jackie-Jackie out of +bed. He described the location of the barracks, and told the Tongan +to swim softly around and have talk with the Kanakas. In two hours +Jackie-Jackie was back. He shook his head as he stood dripping before +Grief. + +"Very funny t'ing," he reported. "One white man stop all the time. He +has big rifle. He lay in water and watch. Maybe twelve o'clock, other +white man come and take rifle. First white man go to bed. Other man stop +now with rifle. No good. Me cannot talk with Kanakas. Me come back." + +"By George!" Grief said to Snow, after the Tongan had gone back to his +bunk. "I smell something more than shell. Those three men are standing +watches over their Kanakas. That man's no more Swithin Hall than I am." + +Snow whistled from the impact of a new idea. + +"I've got it!" he cried. + +"And I'll name it," Grief retorted, "It's in your mind that the _Emily +L._ was their schooner?" + +"Just that. They're raising and rotting the shell, while she's gone for +more divers, or provisions, or both." + +"And I agree with you." Grief glanced at the cabin clock and evinced +signs of bed-going. "He's a sailor. The three of them are. But they're +not island men. They're new in these waters." + +Again Snow whistled. + +"And the _Emily L._ is lost with all hands," he said. "We know that. +They're marooned here till Swithin Hall comes. Then he'll catch them +with all the shell." + +"Or they'll take possession of his schooner." + +"Hope they do!" Snow muttered vindictively. "Somebody ought to rob him. +Wish I was in their boots. I'd balance off that sixty thousand." + + + + +VII + +A week passed, during which time the _Uncle Toby_ was ready for sea, +while Grief managed to allay any suspicion of him by the shore crowd. + +Even Gorman and Watson accepted him at his self-description. Throughout +the week Grief begged and badgered them for the longitude of the island. + +"You wouldn't have me leave here lost," he finally urged. "I can't get a +line on my chronometer without your longitude." + +Hall laughingly refused. + +"You're too good a navigator, Mr. Anstey, not to fetch New Guinea or +some other high land." + +"And you're too good a navigator, Mr. Hall," Grief replied, "not to know +that I can fetch your island any time by running down its latitude." + +On the last evening, ashore, as usual, to dinner, Grief got his first +view of the pearls they had collected. Mrs. Hall, waxing enthusiastic, +had asked her husband to bring forth the "pretties," and had spent half +an hour showing them to Grief. His delight in them was genuine, as well +as was his surprise that they had made so rich a haul. + +"The lagoon is virgin," Hall explained. "You saw yourself that most +of the shell is large and old. But it's funny that we got most of the +valuable pearls in one small patch in the course of a week. It was a +little treasure house. Every oyster seemed filled--seed pearls by the +quart, of course, but the perfect ones, most of that bunch there, came +out of the small patch." + +Grief ran his eye over them and knew their value ranged from one hundred +to a thousand dollars each, while the several selected large ones went +far beyond. + +"Oh, the pretties! the pretties!" Mrs. Hall cried, bending forward +suddenly and kissing them. + +A few minutes later she arose to say good-night. + +"It's good-bye," Grief said, as he took her hand. "We sail at daylight." + +"So suddenly!" she cried, while Grief could not help seeing the quick +light of satisfaction in her husband's eyes. + +"Yes," Grief continued. "All the repairs are finished. I can't get the +longitude of your island out of your husband, though I'm still in hopes +he'll relent." + +Hall laughed and shook his head, and, as his wife left the room, +proposed a last farewell nightcap. They sat over it, smoking and +talking. + +"What do you estimate they're worth?" Grief asked, indicating the spread +of pearls on the table. "I mean what the pearl-buyers would give you in +open market?" + +"Oh, seventy-five or eighty thousand," Hall said carelessly. + +"I'm afraid you're underestimating. I know pearls a bit. Take that +biggest one. It's perfect. Not a cent less than five thousand dollars. +Some multimillionaire will pay double that some day, when the dealers +have taken their whack. And never minding the seed pearls, you've got +quarts of baroques there. And baroques are coming into fashion. They're +picking up and doubling on themselves every year." + +Hall gave the trove of pearls a closer and longer scrutiny, estimating +the different parcels and adding the sum aloud. + +"You're right," he admitted. "They're worth a hundred thousand right +now." + +"And at what do you figure your working expenses?" Grief went on. "Your +time, and your two men's, and the divers'?" + +"Five thousand would cover it." + +"Then they stand to net you ninety-five thousand?" + +"Something like that. But why so curious?" + +"Why, I was just trying----" Grief paused and drained his glass. "Just +trying to reach some sort of an equitable arrangement. Suppose I should +give you and your people a passage to Sydney and the five thousand +dollars--or, better, seven thousand five hundred. You've worked hard." + +Without commotion or muscular movement the other man became alert and +tense. His round-faced geniality went out like the flame of a snuffed +candle. No laughter clouded the surface of the eyes, and in their +depths showed the hard, dangerous soul of the man. He spoke in a low, +deliberate voice. + +"Now just what in hell do you mean by that?" + +Grief casually relighted his cigar. + +"I don't know just how to begin," he said. "The situation is--er--is +embarrassing for you. You see, I'm trying to be fair. As I say, you've +worked hard. I don't want to confiscate the pearls. I want to pay you +for your time and trouble, and expense." + +Conviction, instantaneous and absolute, froze on the other's face. + +"And I thought you were in Europe," he muttered. Hope flickered for +a moment. "Look here, you're joking me. How do I know you're Swithin +Hall?" + +Grief shrugged his shoulders. "Such a joke would be in poor taste, after +your hospitality. And it is equally in poor taste to have two Swithin +Halls on the island." + +"Since you're Swithin Hall, then who the deuce am I? Do you know that, +too?" + +"No," Grief answered airily. "But I'd like to know." + +"Well, it's none of your business." + +"I grant it. Your identity is beside the point. Besides, I know your +schooner, and I can find out who you are from that." + +"What's her name?" + +"The _Emily L._ + +"Correct. I'm Captain Raffy, owner and master." + +"The seal-poacher? I've heard of you. What under the sun brought you +down here on my preserves?" + +"Needed the money. The seal herds are about finished." + +"And the out-of-the-way places of the world are better policed, eh?" + +"Pretty close to it. And now about this present scrape, Mr. Hall. I can +put up a nasty fight. What are you going to do about it?" + +"What I said. Even better. What's the _Emily L._ worth?" + +"She's seen her day. Not above ten thousand, which would be robbery. +Every time she's in a rough sea I'm afraid she'll jump her ballast +through her planking." + +"She has jumped it, Captain Raffy. I sighted her bottom-up after the +blow. Suppose we say she was worth seven thousand five hundred. I'll +pay over to you fifteen thousand and give you a passage. Don't move your +hands from your lap." Grief stood up, went over to him, and took his +revolver. "Just a necessary precaution, Captain. Now you'll go on board +with me. I'll break the news to Mrs. Raffy afterward, and fetch her out +to join you." + +"You're behaving handsomely, Mr. Hall, I must say," Captain Raffy +volunteered, as the whaleboat came alongside the _Uncle Toby_. "But +watch out for Gorman and Watson. They're ugly customers. And, by the +way, I don't like to mention it, but you've seen my wife. I've given her +four or five pearls. Watson and Gorman were willing." + +"Say no more, Captain. Say no more. They shall remain hers. Is that you, +Mr. Snow? Here's a friend I want you to take charge of--Captain Raffy. +I'm going ashore for his wife." + + + + +VIII + +David Grief sat writing at the library table in the bungalow +living-room. Outside, the first pale of dawn was showing. He had had a +busy night. Mrs. Raffy had taken two hysterical hours to pack her and +Captain Raffy's possessions. Gorman had been caught asleep, but Watson, +standing guard over the divers, had shown fight. Matters did not reach +the shooting stage, but it was only after it had been demonstrated to +him that the game was up that he consented to join his companions on +board. For temporary convenience, he and Gorman were shackled in the +mate's room, Mrs. Raffy was confined in Grief's, and Captain Raffy made +fast to the cabin table. + +Grief finished the document and read over what he had written: + + To Swithin Hall, + for pearls taken from his lagoon (estimated) $100,000 + + To Herbert Snow, paid in full for salvage from + steamship Cascade in pearls (estimated) $60,000 + + To Captain Raffy, salary and expenses for + collecting pearls 7,500 + + To Captain Raffy, reimbursement for + schooner Emily L., lost in hurricane 7,500 + + To Mrs. Raffy, for good will, five fair + pearls (estimated) 1,100 + + To passage to Syndey, four persons, + at $120. 480 + + To white lead for painting Swithin + Hall's two whaleboats 9 + + To Swithin Hall, balance in pearls (estimated) + which are to be found in drawer of library table 23,411 + + $100,000--$100,000 + +Grief signed and dated, paused, and added at the bottom: + + _P. S.--Still owing to Swithin Hall three books, borrowed + from library: Hudson's "Law of Psychic Phenomena," Zola's + "Paris," and Mahan's "Problem of Asia." These books, or full + value, can be collected of said David Griefs Sydney office_. + +He shut off the electric light, picked up the bundle of books, carefully +latched the front door, and went down to the waiting whaleboat. + + + + +Chapter Six--A GOBOTO NIGHT + + + + +I + +At Goboto the traders come off their schooners and the planters drift +in from far, wild coasts, and one and all they assume shoes, white duck +trousers, and various other appearances of civilization. At Goboto mail +is received, bills are paid, and newspapers, rarely more than five weeks +old, are accessible; for the little island, belted with its coral reefs, +affords safe anchorage, is the steamer port of call, and serves as the +distributing point for the whole wide-scattered group. + +Life at Goboto is heated, unhealthy, and lurid, and for its size it +asserts the distinction of more cases of acute alcoholism than any other +spot in the world. Guvutu, over in the Solomons, claims that it drinks +between drinks. Goboto does not deny this. It merely states, in passing, +that in the Goboton chronology no such interval of time is known. It +also points out its import statistics, which show a far larger per +capita consumption of spiritous liquors. Guvutu explains this on the +basis that Goboto does a larger business and has more visitors. Goboto +retorts that its resident population is smaller and that its visitors +are thirstier. And the discussion goes on interminably, principally +because of the fact that the disputants do not live long enough to +settle it. + +Goboto is not large. The island is only a quarter of a mile in diameter, +and on it are situated an admiralty coal-shed (where a few tons of coal +have lain untouched for twenty years), the barracks for a handful of +black labourers, a big store and warehouse with sheet-iron roofs, and a +bungalow inhabited by the manager and his two clerks. They are the white +population. An average of one man out of the three is always to be found +down with fever. The job at Goboto is a hard one. It is the policy of +the company to treat its patrons well, as invading companies have found +out, and it is the task of the manager and clerks to do the treating. +Throughout the year traders and recruiters arrive from far, dry cruises, +and planters from equally distant and dry shores, bringing with them +magnificent thirsts. Goboto is the mecca of sprees, and when they have +spread they go back to their schooners and plantations to recuperate. + +Some of the less hardy require as much as six months between visits. But +for the manager and his assistants there are no such intervals. They are +on the spot, and week by week, blown in by monsoon or southeast +trade, the schooners come to anchor, cargo'd with copra, ivory nuts, +pearl-shell, hawksbill turtle, and thirst. + +It is a very hard job at Goboto. That is why the pay is twice that on +other stations, and that is why the company selects only courageous and +intrepid men for this particular station. They last no more than a year +or so, when the wreckage of them is shipped back to Australia, or the +remains of them are buried in the sand across on the windward side of +the islet. Johnny Bassett, almost the legendary hero of Goboto, broke +all records. He was a remittance man with a remarkable constitution, +and he lasted seven years. His dying request was duly observed by his +clerks, who pickled him in a cask of trade-rum (paid for out of +their own salaries) and shipped him back to his people in England. +Nevertheless, at Goboto, they tried to be gentlemen. For that matter, +though something was wrong with them, they were gentlemen, and had been +gentlemen. That was why the great unwritten rule of Goboto was that +visitors should put on pants and shoes. Breech-clouts, lava-lavas, and +bare legs were not tolerated. When Captain Jensen, the wildest of the +Blackbirders though descended from old New York Knickerbocker stock, +surged in, clad in loin-cloth, undershirt, two belted revolvers and +a sheath-knife, he was stopped at the beach. This was in the days of +Johnny Bassett, ever a stickler in matters of etiquette. Captain Jensen +stood up in the sternsheets of his whaleboat and denied the existence of +pants on his schooner. Also, he affirmed his intention of coming ashore. +They of Goboto nursed him back to health from a bullet-hole through his +shoulder, and in addition handsomely begged his pardon, for no pants +had they found on his schooner. And finally, on the first day he sat up, +Johnny Bassett kindly but firmly assisted his guest into a pair of pants +of his own. This was the great precedent. In all the succeeding years it +had never been violated. White men and pants were undivorce-able. Only +niggers ran naked. Pants constituted caste. + + + + +II + +On this night things were, with one exception, in nowise different from +any other night. Seven of them, with glimmering eyes and steady legs, +had capped a day of Scotch with swivel-sticked cocktails and sat down to +dinner. Jacketed, trousered, and shod, they were: Jerry McMurtrey, the +manager; Eddy Little and Jack Andrews, clerks; Captain Stapler, of the +recruiting ketch _Merry_; Darby Shryleton, planter from Tito-Ito; Peter +Gee, a half-caste Chinese pearl-buyer who ranged from Ceylon to the +Paumotus, and Alfred Deacon, a visitor who had stopped off from the last +steamer. At first wine was served by the black servants to those that +drank it, though all quickly shifted back to Scotch and soda, pickling +their food as they ate it, ere it went into their calcined, pickled +stomachs. + +Over their coffee, they heard the rumble of an anchor-chain through a +hawse-pipe, tokening the arrival of a vessel. + +"It's David Grief," Peter Gee remarked. + +"How do you know?" Deacon demanded truculently, and then went on to deny +the half-caste's knowledge. "You chaps put on a lot of side over a new +chum. I've done some sailing myself, and this naming a craft when +its sail is only a blur, or naming a man by the sound of his +anchor--it's--it's unadulterated poppycock." + +Peter Gee was engaged in lighting a cigarette, and did not answer. + +"Some of the niggers do amazing things that way," McMurtrey interposed +tactfully. + +As with the others, this conduct of their visitor jarred on the manager. +From the moment of Peter Gee's arrival that afternoon Deacon had +manifested a tendency to pick on him. He had disputed his statements and +been generally rude. + +"Maybe it's because Peter's got Chink blood in him," had been Andrews' +hypothesis. "Deacon's Australian, you know, and they're daffy down there +on colour." + +"I fancy that's it," McMurtrey had agreed. "But we can't permit any +bullying, especially of a man like Peter Gee, who's whiter than most +white men." + +In this the manager had been in nowise wrong. Peter Gee was that rare +creature, a good as well as clever Eurasian. In fact, it was the +stolid integrity of the Chinese blood that toned the recklessness and +licentiousness of the English blood which had run in his father's veins. +Also, he was better educated than any man there, spoke better English +as well as several other tongues, and knew and lived more of their own +ideals of gentlemanness than they did themselves. And, finally, he was +a gentle soul. Violence he deprecated, though he had killed men in his +time. Turbulence he abhorred. + +He always avoided it as he would the plague. + +Captain Stapler stepped in to help McMurtrey: + +"I remember, when I changed schooners and came into Altman, the niggers +knew right off the bat it was me. I wasn't expected, either, much less +to be in another craft. They told the trader it was me. He used the +glasses, and wouldn't believe them. But they did know. Told me afterward +they could see it sticking out all over the schooner that I was running +her." + +Deacon ignored him, and returned to the attack on the pearl-buyer. + +"How do you know from the sound of the anchor that it was this +whatever-you-called-him man?" he challenged. + +"There are so many things that go to make up such a judgment," Peter +Gee answered. "It's very hard to explain. It would require almost a text +book." + +"I thought so," Deacon sneered. "Explanation that doesn't explain is +easy." + +"Who's for bridge?" Eddy Little, the second clerk, interrupted, looking +up expectantly and starting to shuffle. "You'll play, won't you, Peter?" + +"If he does, he's a bluffer," Deacon cut back. "I'm getting tired of all +this poppycock. Mr. Gee, you will favour me and put yourself in a +better light if you tell how you know who that man was that just dropped +anchor. After that I'll play you piquet." + +"I'd prefer bridge," Peter answered. "As for the other thing, +it's something like this: By the sound it was a small craft--no +square-rigger. No whistle, no siren, was blown--again a small craft. It +anchored close in--still again a small craft, for steamers and big ships +must drop hook outside the middle shoal. Now the entrance is tortuous. +There is no recruiting nor trading captain in the group who dares to run +the passage after dark. Certainly no stranger would. There _were_ two +exceptions. The first was Margonville. But he was executed by the High +Court at Fiji. Remains the other exception, David Grief. Night or +day, in any weather, he runs the passage. This is well known to all. A +possible factor, in case Grief were somewhere else, would be some young +dare-devil of a skipper. In this connection, in the first place, I don't +know of any, nor does anybody else. In the second place, David Grief is +in these waters, cruising on the _Gunga_, which is shortly scheduled to +leave here for Karo-Karo. I spoke to Grief, on the _Gunga_, in Sandfly +Passage, day before yesterday. He was putting a trader ashore on a new +station. He said he was going to call in at Babo, and then come on to +Goboto. He has had ample time to get here. I have heard an anchor drop. +Who else than David Grief can it be? Captain Donovan is skipper of the +_Gunga_, and him I know too well to believe that he'd run in to Goboto +after dark unless his owner were in charge. In a few minutes David +Grief will enter through that door and say, 'In Guvutu they merely drink +between drinks.' I'll wager fifty pounds he's the man that enters and +that his words will be, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks. '" +Deacon was for the moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in his +face. + +"Well, he's answered you," McMurtrey laughed genially. "And I'll back +his bet myself for a couple of sovereigns." + +"Bridge! Who's going to take a hand?" Eddy Little cried impatiently. +"Come on, Peter!" + +"The rest of you play," Deacon said. "He and I are going to play +piquet." + +"I'd prefer bridge," Peter Gee said mildly. + +"Don't you play piquet?" + +The pearl-buyer nodded. + +"Then come on. Maybe I can show I know more about that than I do about +anchors." + +"Oh, I say----" McMurtrey began. + +"You can play bridge," Deacon shut him off. "We prefer piquet." + +Reluctantly, Peter Gee was bullied into a game that he knew would be +unhappy. + +"Only a rubber," he said, as he cut for deal. + +"For how much?" Deacon asked. + +Peter Gee shrugged his shoulders. "As you please." + +"Hundred up--five pounds a game?" + +Peter Gee agreed. + +"With the lurch double, of course, ten pounds?" + +"All right," said Peter Gee. + +At another table four of the others sat in at bridge. Captain Stapler, +who was no card-player, looked on and replenished the long glasses +of Scotch that stood at each man's right hand. McMurtrey, with poorly +concealed apprehension, followed as well as he could what went on at +the piquet table. His fellow Englishmen as well were shocked by the +behaviour of the Australian, and all were troubled by fear of some +untoward act on his part. That he was working up his animosity against +the half-caste, and that the explosion might come any time, was apparent +to all. + +"I hope Peter loses," McMurtrey said in an undertone. + +"Not if he has any luck," Andrews answered. "He's a wizard at piquet. I +know by experience." + +That Peter Gee was lucky was patent from the continual badgering of +Deacon, who filled his glass frequently. He had lost the first game, +and, from his remarks, was losing the second, when the door opened and +David Grief entered. + +"In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks," he remarked casually to +the assembled company, ere he gripped the manager's hand. "Hello, Mac! +Say, my skipper's down in the whaleboat. He's got a silk shirt, a tie, +and tennis shoes, all complete, but he wants you to send a pair of pants +down. Mine are too small, but yours will fit him. Hello, Eddy! How's +that _ngari-ngari?_ You up, Jock? The miracle has happened. No one down +with fever, and no one remarkably drunk." He sighed, "I suppose the +night is young yet. Hello, Peter! Did you catch that big squall an hour +after you left us? We had to let go the second anchor." + +While he was being introduced to Deacon, McMurtrey dispatched a +house-boy with the pants, and when Captain Donovan came in it was as a +white man should--at least in Goboto. + +Deacon lost the second game, and an outburst heralded the fact. Peter +Gee devoted himself to lighting a cigarette and keeping quiet. + +"What?--are you quitting because you're ahead?" Deacon demanded. + +Grief raised his eyebrows questioningly to McMurtrey, who frowned back +his own disgust. + +"It's the rubber," Peter Gee answered. + +"It takes three games to make a rubber. It's my deal. Come on!" + +Peter Gee acquiesced, and the third game was on. + +"Young whelp--he needs a lacing," McMurtrey muttered to Grief. "Come on, +let us quit, you chaps. I want to keep an eye on him. If he goes too far +I'll throw him out on the beach, company instructions or no." + +"Who is he?" Grief queried. + +"A left-over from last steamer. Company's orders to treat him nice. He's +looking to invest in a plantation. Has a ten-thousand-pound letter of +credit with the company. He's got 'all-white Australia' on the brain. +Thinks because his skin is white and because his father was once +Attorney-General of the Commonwealth that he can be a cur. That's why +he's picking on Peter, and you know Peter's the last man in the world +to make trouble or incur trouble. Damn the company. I didn't engage +to wet-nurse its infants with bank accounts. Come on, fill your glass, +Grief. The man's a blighter, a blithering blighter." + +"Maybe he's only young," Grief suggested. + +"He can't contain his drink--that's clear." The manager glared his +disgust and wrath. "If he raises a hand to Peter, so help me, I'll give +him a licking myself, the little overgrown cad!" + +The pearl-buyer pulled the pegs out of the cribbage board on which he +was scoring and sat back. He had won the third game. He glanced across +to Eddy Little, saying: + +"I'm ready for the bridge, now." + +"I wouldn't be a quitter," Deacon snarled. + +"Oh, really, I'm tired of the game," Peter Gee assured him with his +habitual quietness. + +"Come on and be game," Deacon bullied. "One more. You can't take my +money that way. I'm out fifteen pounds. Double or quits." + +McMurtrey was about to interpose, but Grief restrained him with his +eyes. + +"If it positively is the last, all right," said Peter Gee, gathering up +the cards. "It's my deal, I believe. As I understand it, this final is +for fifteen pounds. Either you owe me thirty or we quit even?" + +"That's it, chappie. Either we break even or I pay you thirty." + +"Getting blooded, eh?" Grief remarked, drawing up a chair. + +The other men stood or sat around the table, and Deacon played again +in bad luck. That he was a good player was clear. The cards were merely +running against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimity +was equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snapped +and growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Gee +counted out, while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. He +glowered speechlessly at his opponent. + +"Looks like a lurch," said Grief. + +"Which is double," said Peter Gee. + +"There's no need your telling me," Deacon snarled. "I've studied +arithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!" + +The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table was +an insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals of +resentment. + +"You've got fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you that +much," Deacon went on. "I could teach you cards." + +The half-caste smiled and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money. + +"There's a little game called casino--I wonder if you ever heard of +it?--a child's game." + +"I've seen it played," the half-caste murmured gently. + +"What's that?" snapped Deacon. "Maybe you think you can play it?" + +"Oh, no, not for a moment. I'm afraid I haven't head enough for it." + +"It's a bully game, casino," Grief broke in pleasantly. "I like it very +much." + +Deacon ignored him. + +"I'll play you ten quid a game--thirty-one points out," was the +challenge to Peter Gee. "And I'll show you how little you know about +cards. Come on! Where's a full deck?" + +"No, thanks," the half-caste answered. "They are waiting for me in order +to make up a bridge set." + +"Yes, come on," Eddy Little begged eagerly. "Come on, Peter, let's get +started." + +"Afraid of a little game like casino," Deacon girded. "Maybe the stakes +are too high. I'll play you for pennies--or farthings, if you say so." + +The man's conduct was a hurt and an affront to all of them. McMurtrey +could stand it no longer. + +"Now hold on, Deacon. He says he doesn't want to play. Let him alone." + +Deacon turned raging upon his host; but before he could blurt out his +abuse, Grief had stepped into the breach. + +"I'd like to play casino with you," he said. + +"What do you know about it?" + +"Not much, but I'm willing to learn." + +"Well, I'm not teaching for pennies to-night." + +"Oh, that's all right," Grief answered. "I'll play for almost any +sum--within reason, of course." + +Deacon proceeded to dispose of this intruder with one stroke. + +"I'll play you a hundred pounds a game, if that will do you any good." + +Grief beamed his delight. "That will be all right, very right. Let us +begin. Do you count sweeps?" + +Deacon was taken aback. He had not expected a Goboton trader to be +anything but crushed by such a proposition. + +"Do you count sweeps?" Grief repeated. + +Andrews had brought him a new deck, and he was throwing out the joker. + +"Certainly not," Deacon answered. "That's a sissy game." + +"I'm glad," Grief coincided. "I don't like sissy games either." + +"You don't, eh? Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll play for +five hundred pounds a game." + +Again Deacon was taken aback. + +"I'm agreeable," Grief said, beginning to shuffle. "Cards and spades go +out first, of course, and then big and little casino, and the aces in +the bridge order of value. Is that right?" + +"You're a lot of jokers down here," Deacon laughed, but his laughter was +strained. "How do I know you've got the money?" + +"By the same token I know you've got it. Mac, how's my credit with the +company?" + +"For all you want," the manager answered. + +"You personally guarantee that?" Deacon demanded. + +"I certainly do," McMurtrey said. "Depend upon it, the company will +honour his paper up and past your letter of credit." + +"Low deals," Grief said, placing the deck before Deacon on the table. + +The latter hesitated in the midst of the cut and looked around with +querulous misgiving at the faces of the others. The clerks and captains +nodded. + +"You're all strangers to me," Deacon complained. "How am I to know? +Money on paper isn't always the real thing." + +Then it was that Peter Gee, drawing a wallet from his pocket and +borrowing a fountain pen from McMurtrey, went into action. + +"I haven't gone to buying yet," the half-caste explained, "so the +account is intact. I'll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It's for +fifteen thousand. There, look at it." + +Deacon intercepted the letter of credit as it was being passed across +the table. He read it slowly, then glanced up at McMurtrey. + +"Is that right?" + +"Yes. It's just the same as your own, and just as good. The company's +paper is always good." + +Deacon cut the cards, won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle. +But his luck was still against him, and he lost the game. + +"Another game," he said. "We didn't say how many, and you can't quit +with me a loser. I want action." + +Grief shuffled and passed the cards for the cut. + +"Let's play for a thousand," Deacon said, when he had lost the second +game. And when the thousand had gone the way of the two five hundred +bets he proposed to play for two thousand. + +"That's progression," McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glare +from Deacon. But the manager was insistent. "You don't have to play +progression, Grief, unless you're foolish." + +"Who's playing this game?" Deacon flamed at his host; and then, to +Grief: "I've lost two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?" + +Grief nodded, the fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifest +unfairness of such betting was known to all of them. Though he had lost +three games out of four, Deacon had lost no money. By the child's device +of doubling his wager with each loss, he was bound, with the first game +he won, no matter how long delayed, to be even again. + +He now evinced an unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck to +be cut. + +"What?" Deacon cried. "You want more?" + +"Haven't got anything yet," Grief murmured whimsically, as he began the +deal. "For the usual five hundred, I suppose?" + +The shame of what he had done must have tingled in Deacon, for he +answered, "No, we'll play for a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points is +too long. Why not twenty-one points out--if it isn't too rapid for you?" + +"That will make it a nice, quick, little game," Grief agreed. + +The former method of play was repeated. Deacon lost two games, doubled +the stake, and was again even. But Grief was patient, though the thing +occurred several times in the next hour's play. Then happened what he +was waiting for--a lengthening in the series of losing games for Deacon. +The latter doubled to four thousand and lost, doubled to eight thousand +and lost, and then proposed to double to sixteen thousand. + +Grief shook his head. "You can't do that, you know. You're only ten +thousand credit with the company." + +"You mean you won't give me action?" Deacon asked hoarsely. "You mean +that with eight thousand of my money you're going to quit?" + +Grief smiled and shook his head. + +"It's robbery, plain robbery," Deacon went on. "You take my money and +won't give me action." + +"No, you're wrong. I'm perfectly willing to give you what action you've +got coming to you. You've got two thousand pounds of action yet." + +"Well, we'll play it," Deacon took him up. "You cut." + +The game was played in silence, save for irritable remarks and curses +from Deacon. Silently the onlookers filled and sipped their long +Scotch glasses. Grief took no notice of his opponent's outbursts, but +concentrated on the game. He was really playing cards, and there were +fifty-two in the deck to be kept track of, and of which he did keep +track. Two thirds of the way through the last deal he threw down his +hand. + +"Cards put me out," he said. "I have twenty-seven." + +"If you've made a mistake," Deacon threatened, his face white and drawn. + +"Then I shall have lost. Count them." + +Grief passed over his stack of takings, and Deacon, with trembling +fingers, verified the count. He half shoved his chair back from the +table and emptied his glass. He looked about him at unsympathetic faces. + +"I fancy I'll be catching the next steamer for Sydney," he said, and for +the first time his speech was quiet and without bluster. + +As Grief told them afterward: "Had he whined or raised a roar I wouldn't +have given him that last chance. As it was, he took his medicine like a +man, and I had to do it." + +Deacon glanced at his watch, simulated a weary yawn, and started to +rise. + +"Wait," Grief said. "Do you want further action?" + +The other sank down in his chair, strove to speak, but could not, licked +his dry lips, and nodded his head. + +"Captain Donovan here sails at daylight in the _Gunga_ for Karo-Karo," +Grief began with seeming irrelevance. "Karo-Karo is a ring of sand in +the sea, with a few thousand cocoa-nut trees. Pandanus grows there, but +they can't grow sweet potatoes nor taro. There aremabout eight hundred +natives, a king and two prime ministers, and the last three named are +the only ones who wear any clothes. It's a sort of God-forsaken little +hole, and once a year I send a schooner up from Goboto. The drinking +water is brackish, but old Tom Butler has survived on it for a dozen +years. He's the only white man there, and he has a boat's crew of five +Santa Cruz boys who would run away or kill him if they could. That is +why they were sent there. They can't run away. He is always supplied +with the hard cases from the plantations. There are no missionaries. +Two native Samoan teachers were clubbed to death on the beach when they +landed several years ago. + +"Naturally, you are wondering what it is all about. But have patience. +As I have said, Captain Donovan sails on the annual trip to Karo-Karo at +daylight to-morrow. Tom Butler is old, and getting quite helpless. I've +tried to retire him to Australia, but he says he wants to remain and +die on Karo-Karo, and he will in the next year or so. He's a queer old +codger. Now the time is due for me to send some white man up to take the +work off his hands. I wonder how you'd like the job. You'd have to stay +two years. + +"Hold on! I've not finished. You've talked frequently of action this +evening. There's no action in betting away what you've never sweated +for. The money you've lost to me was left you by your father or some +other relative who did the sweating. But two years of work as trader on +Karo-Karo would mean something. I'll bet the ten thousand I've won from +you against two years of your time. If you win, the money's yours. If +you lose, you take the job at Karo-Karo and sail at daylight. Now that's +what might be called real action. Will you play?" + +Deacon could not speak. His throat lumped and he nodded his head as he +reached for the cards. + +"One thing more," Grief said. "I can do even better. If you lose, two +years of your time are mine--naturally without wages. Nevertheless, +I'll pay you wages. If your work is satisfactory, if you observe all +instructions and rules, I'll pay you five thousand pounds a year for two +years. The money will be deposited with the company, to be paid to you, +with interest, when the time expires. Is that all right?" + +"Too much so," Deacon stammered. "You are unfair to yourself. A trader +only gets ten or fifteen pounds a month." + +"Put it down to action, then," Grief said, with an air of dismissal. +"And before we begin, I'll jot down several of the rules. These you will +repeat aloud every morning during the two years--if you lose. They +are for the good of your soul. When you have repeated them aloud seven +hundred and thirty Karo-Karo mornings I am confident they will be in +your memory to stay. Lend me your pen, Mac. Now, let's see----" + +He wrote steadily and rapidly for some minutes, then proceeded to read +the matter aloud: + +"_I must always remember that one man is as good as another, save and +except when he thinks he is better._ + +"_No matter how drunk I am I must not fail to be a gentleman. A +gentleman is a man who is gentle. Note: It would be better not to get +drunk_. + +"_When I play a man's game with men, I must play like a man_. + +"_A good curse, rightly used and rarely, is an efficient thing. Too many +curses spoil the cursing. Note: A curse cannot change a card seguence +nor cause the wind to blow._ + +"_There is no license for a man to be less than a man. Ten thousand +pounds cannot purchase such a license._" + +At the beginning of the reading Deacon's face had gone white with anger. +Then had arisen, from neck to forehead, a slow and terrible flush that +deepened to the end of the reading. + +"There, that will be all," Grief said, as he folded the paper and tossed +it to the centre of the table. "Are you still ready to play the game?" + +"I deserve it," Deacon muttered brokenly. "I've been an ass. Mr. Gee, +before I know whether I win or lose, I want to apologize. Maybe it was +the whiskey, I don't know, but I'm an ass, a cad, a bounder--everything +that's rotten." + +He held out his hand, and the half-caste took it beamingly. + +"I say, Grief," he blurted out, "the boy's all right. Call the whole +thing off, and let's forget it in a final nightcap." + +Grief showed signs of debating, but Deacon cried: + +"No; I won't permit it. I'm not a quitter. If it's Karo-Karo, it's +Karo-Karo. There's nothing more to it." + +"Right," said Grief, as he began the shuffle. "If he's the right stuff +to go to Karo-Karo, Karo-Karo won't do him any harm." + +The game was close and hard. Three times they divided the deck between +them and "cards" was not scored. At the beginning of the fifth and +last deal, Deacon needed three points to go out, and Grief needed four. +"Cards" alone would put Deacon out, and he played for "cards". He no +longer muttered or cursed, and played his best game of the evening. +Incidentally he gathered in the two black aces and the ace of hearts. + +"I suppose you can name the four cards I hold," he challenged, as the +last of the deal was exhausted and he picked up his hand. + +Grief nodded. + +"Then name them." + +"The knave of spades, the deuce of spades, the tray of hearts, and the +ace of diamonds," Grief answered. + +Those behind Deacon and looking at his hand made no sign. Yet the naming +had been correct. + +"I fancy you play casino better than I," Deacon acknowledged. "I can +name only three of yours, a knave, an ace, and big casino." + +"Wrong. There aren't five aces in the deck. You've taken in three and +you hold the fourth in your hand now." + +"By Jove, you're right," Deacon admitted. "I did scoop in three. Anyway, +I'll make 'cards' on you. That's all I need." + +"I'll let you save little casino----" Grief paused to calculate. "Yes, +and the ace as well, and still I'll make 'cards' and go out with big +casino. Play." + +"No 'cards' and I win!" Deacon exulted as the last of the hand was +played. "I go out on little casino and the four aces. 'Big casino' and +'spades' only bring you to twenty." + +Grief shook his head. "Some mistake, I'm afraid." + +"No," Deacon declared positively. "I counted every card I took in. +That's the one thing I was correct on. I've twenty-six, and you've +twenty-six." + +"Count again," Grief said. + +Carefully and slowly, with trembling fingers, Deacon counted the cards +he had taken. There were twenty-five. He reached over to the corner of +the table, took up the rules Grief had written, folded them, and put +them in his pocket. Then he emptied his glass, and stood up. Captain +Donovan looked at his watch, yawned, and also arose. + +"Going aboard, Captain?" Deacon asked. + +"Yes," was the answer. "What time shall I send the whaleboat for you?" + +"I'll go with you now. We'll pick up my luggage from the _Billy_ as we +go by, I was sailing on her for Babo in the morning." + +Deacon shook hands all around, after receiving a final pledge of good +luck on Karo-Karo. + +"Does Tom Butler play cards?" he asked Grief. + +"Solitaire," was the answer. + +"Then I'll teach him double solitaire." Deacon turned toward the door, +where Captain Donovan waited, and added with a sigh, "And I fancy he'll +skin me, too, if he plays like the rest of you island men." + + + + + +Chapter Seven--THE FEATHERS OF THE SUN + + + + +I + +It was the island of Fitu-Iva--the last independent Polynesian +stronghold in the South Seas. Three factors conduced to Fitu-Iva's +independence. The first and second were its isolation and the +warlikeness of its population. But these would not have saved it in +the end had it not been for the fact that Japan, France, Great +Britain, Germany, and the United States discovered its desirableness +simultaneously. It was like gamins scrambling for a penny. They got +in one another's way. The war vessels of the five Powers cluttered +Fitu-Iva's one small harbour. There were rumours of war and threats of +war. Over its morning toast all the world read columns about Fitu-Iva. +As a Yankee blue jacket epitomized it at the time, they all got their +feet in the trough at once. + +So it was that Fitu-Iva escaped even a joint protectorate, and King +Tulifau, otherwise Tui Tulifau, continued to dispense the high justice +and the low in the frame-house palace built for him by a Sydney trader +out of California redwood. Not only was Tui Tulifau every inch a king, +but he was every second a king. When he had ruled fifty-eight years and +five months, he was only fifty-eight years and three months old. That +is to say, he had ruled over five million seconds more than he had +breathed, having been crowned two months before he was born. + +He was a kingly king, a royal figure of a man, standing six feet and +a half, and, without being excessively fat, weighing three hundred and +twenty pounds. But this was not unusual for Polynesian "chief stock." +Sepeli, his queen, was six feet three inches and weighed two hundred +and sixty, while her brother, Uiliami, who commanded the army in the +intervals of resignation from the premiership, topped her by an inch and +notched her an even half-hundredweight. Tui Tulifau was a merry soul, a +great feaster and drinker. So were all his people merry souls, save in +anger, when, on occasion, they could be guilty even of throwing dead +pigs at those who made them wroth. Nevertheless, on occasion, they could +fight like Maoris, as piratical sandalwood traders and Blackbirders in +the old days learned to their cost. + + + + +II + +Grief's schooner, the _Cantani_, had passed the Pillar Rocks at the +entrance two hours before and crept up the harbour to the whispering +flutters of a breeze that could not make up its mind to blow. It was +a cool, starlight evening, and they lolled about the poop waiting till +their snail's pace would bring them to the anchorage. Willie Smee, the +supercargo, emerged from the cabin, conspicuous in his shore clothes. +The mate glanced at his shirt, of the finest and whitest silk, and +giggled significantly. + +"Dance, to-night, I suppose?" Grief observed. + +"No," said the mate. "It's Taitua. Willie's stuck on her." + +"Catch me," the supercargo disclaimed. + +"Then she's stuck on you, and it's all the same," the mate went on. "You +won't be ashore half an hour before you'll have a flower behind your +ear, a wreath on your head, and your arm around Taitua." + +"Simple jealousy," Willie Smee sniffed. "You'd like to have her +yourself, only you can't." + +"I can't find shirts like that, that's why. I'll bet you half a crown +you won't sail from Fitu-Iva with that shirt." + +"And if Taitua doesn't get it, it's an even break Tui Tulifau does," +Grief warned. "Better not let him spot that shirt, or it's all day with +it." + +"That's right," Captain Boig agreed, turning his head from watching the +house lights on the shore. "Last voyage he fined one of my Kanakas out +of a fancy belt and sheath-knife." He turned to the mate. "You can let +go any time, Mr. Marsh. Don't give too much slack. There's no sign of +wind, and in the morning we may shift opposite the copra-sheds." + +A minute later the anchor rumbled down. The whaleboat, already hoisted +out, lay alongside, and the shore-going party dropped into it. Save for +the Kanakas, who were all bent for shore, only Grief and the supercargo +were in the boat. At the head of the little coral-stone pier Willie +Smee, with an apologetic gurgle, separated from his employer and +disappeared down an avenue of palms. Grief turned in the opposite +direction past the front of the old mission church. Here, among +the graves on the beach, lightly clad in _ahu's_ and _lava-lavas_, +flower-crowned and garlanded, with great phosphorescent hibiscus +blossoms in their hair, youths and maidens were dancing. Farther on, +Grief passed the long, grass-built _himine_ house, where a few score +of the elders sat in long rows chanting the old hymns taught them by +forgotten missionaries. He passed also the palace of Tui Tulifau, where, +by the lights and sounds, he knew the customary revelry was going +on. For of the happy South Sea isles, Fitu-Iva was the happiest. They +feasted and frolicked at births and deaths, and the dead and the unborn +were likewise feasted. + +Grief held steadily along the Broom Road, which curved and twisted +through a lush growth of flowers and fern-like algarobas. The warm air +was rich with perfume, and overhead, outlined against the stars, were +fruit-burdened mangoes, stately avocado trees, and slender-tufted palms. +Every here and there were grass houses. Voices and laughter rippled +through the darkness. Out on the water flickering lights and soft-voiced +choruses marked the fishers returning from the reef. + +At last Grief stepped aside from the road, stumbling over a pig that +grunted indignantly. Looking through an open door, he saw a stout and +elderly native sitting on a heap of mats a dozen deep. From time to +time, automatically, he brushed his naked legs with a cocoa-nut-fibre +fly-flicker. He wore glasses, and was reading methodically in what Grief +knew to be an English Bible. For this was Ieremia, his trader, so named +from the prophet Jeremiah. + +Ieremia was lighter-skinned than the Fitu-Ivans, as was natural in a +full-blooded Samoan. Educated by the missionaries, as lay teacher he had +served their cause well over in the cannibal atolls to the westward. As +a reward, he had been sent to the paradise of Fitu-Iva, where all were +or had been good converts, to gather in the backsliders. Unfortunately, +Ieremia had become too well educated. A stray volume of Darwin, a +nagging wife, and a pretty Fitu-Ivan widow had driven him into the ranks +of the backsliders. It was not a case of apostasy. The effect of Darwin +had been one of intellectual fatigue. What was the use of trying to +understand this vastly complicated and enigmatical world, especially +when one was married to a nagging woman? As Ieremia slackened in his +labours, the mission board threatened louder and louder to send him back +to the atolls, while his wife's tongue grew correspondingly sharper. Tui +Tulifau was a sympathetic monarch, whose queen, on occasions when he was +particularly drunk, was known to beat him. For political reasons--the +queen belonging to as royal stock as himself and her brother commanding +the army--Tui Tulifau could not divorce her, but he could and did +divorce Ieremia, who promptly took up with commercial life and the lady +of his choice. As an independent trader he had failed, chiefly because +of the disastrous patronage of Tui Tulifau. To refuse credit to that +merry monarch was to invite confiscation; to grant him credit was +certain bankruptcy. After a year's idleness on the beach, leremia had +become David Grief's trader, and for a dozen years his service had +been honourable and efficient, for Grief had proven the first man who +successfully refused credit to the king or who collected when it had +been accorded. + +Ieremia looked gravely over the rims of his glasses when his employer +entered, gravely marked the place in the Bible and set it aside, and +gravely shook hands. + +"I am glad you came in person," he said. + +"How else could I come?" Grief laughed. + +But Ieremia had no sense of humour, and he ignored the remark. + +"The commercial situation on the island is damn bad," he said with great +solemnity and an unctuous mouthing of the many-syllabled words. "My +ledger account is shocking." + +"Trade bad?" + +"On the contrary. It has been excellent. The shelves are empty, +exceedingly empty. But----" His eyes glistened proudly. "But there are +many goods remaining in the storehouse; I have kept it carefully +locked." + +"Been allowing Tui Tulifau too much credit?" + +"On the contrary. There has been no credit at all. And every old account +has been settled up." + +"I don't follow you, Ieremia," Grief confessed. "What's the +joke?--shelves empty, no credit, old accounts all square, storehouse +carefully locked--what's the answer?" + +Ieremia did not reply immediately. Reaching under the rear corner of the +mats, he drew forth a large cash-box. Grief noted and wondered that +it was not locked. The Samoan had always been fastidiously cautious in +guarding cash. The box seemed filled with paper money. He skinned off +the top note and passed it over. + +"There is the answer." + +Grief glanced at a fairly well executed banknote. "_The First Royal Bank +of Fitu-Iva will pay to bearer on demand one pound sterling_," he read. +In the centre was the smudged likeness of a native face. At the bottom +was the signature of Tui Tulifau, and the signature of Fulualea, with +the printed information appended, "_Chancellor of the Exchequer._" + +"Who the deuce is Fulualea?" Grief demanded. "It's Fijian, isn't +it?--meaning the feathers of the sun?" + +"Just so. It means the feathers of the sun. Thus does this base +interloper caption himself. He has come up from Fiji to turn Fitu-Iva +upside down--that is, commercially." + +"Some one of those smart Levuka boys, I suppose?" + +Ieremia shook his head sadly. "No, this low fellow is a white man and +a scoundrel. He has taken a noble and high-sounding Fijian name and +dragged it in the dirt to suit his nefarious purposes. He has made Tui +Tulifau drunk. He has made him very drunk. He has kept him very drunk +all the time. In return, he has been made Chancellor of the Exchequer +and other things. He has issued this false paper and compelled the +people to receive it. He has levied a store tax, a copra tax, and a +tobacco tax. There are harbour dues and regulations, and other taxes. +But the people are not taxed--only the traders. When the copra tax was +levied, I lowered the purchasing price accordingly. Then the people +began to grumble, and Feathers of the Sun passed a new law, setting +the old price back and forbidding any man to lower it. Me he fined two +pounds and five pigs, it being well known that I possessed five pigs. +You will find them entered in the ledger. Hawkins, who is trader for +the Fulcrum Company, was fined first pigs, then gin, and, because he +continued to make loud conversation, the army came and burned his store. +When I declined to sell, this Feathers of the Sun fined me once more and +promised to burn the store if again I offended. So I sold all that was +on the shelves, and there is the box full of worthless paper. I shall +be chagrined if you pay me my salary in paper, but it would be just, no +more than just. Now, what is to be done?" + +Grief shrugged his shoulders. "I must first see this Feathers of the Sun +and size up the situation." + +"Then you must see him soon," Ieremia advised. "Else he will have an +accumulation of many fines against you. Thus does he absorb all the +coin of the realm. He has it all now, save what has been buried in the +ground." + + + + +III + +On his way back along the Broom Road, under the lighted lamps that +marked the entrance to the palace grounds, Grief encountered a short, +rotund gentleman, in unstarched ducks, smooth-shaven and of florid +complexion, who was just emerging. Something about his tentative, +saturated gait was familiar. Grief knew it on the instant. On the +beaches of a dozen South Sea ports had he seen it before. + +"Of all men, Cornelius Deasy!" he cried. + +"If it ain't Grief himself, the old devil," was the return greeting, as +they shook hands. + +"If you'll come on board I've some choice smoky Irish," Grief invited. + +Cornelius threw back his shoulders and stiffened. + +"Nothing doin', Mr. Grief. 'Tis Fulualea I am now. No blarneyin' of +old times for me. Also, and by the leave of his gracious Majesty King +Tulifau, 'tis Chancellor of the Exchequer I am, an' Chief Justice I am, +save in moments of royal sport when the king himself chooses to toy with +the wheels of justice." + +Grief whistled his amazement. "So you're Feathers of the Sun!" + +"I prefer the native idiom," was the correction. "Fulualea, an' it +please you. Not forgettin' old times, Mr. Grief, it sorrows the heart +of me to break you the news. You'll have to pay your legitimate import +duties same as any other trader with mind intent on robbin' the gentle +Polynesian savage on coral isles implanted. ----Where was I? Ah! I +remember. You've violated the regulations. With malice intent have you +entered the port of Fitu-Iva after sunset without sidelights burnin'. +Don't interrupt. With my own eyes did I see you. For which offence are +you fined the sum of five pounds. Have you any gin? 'Tis a serious +offence. Not lightly are the lives of the mariners of our commodious +port to be risked for the savin' of a penny'orth of oil. Did I ask: have +you any gin? Tis the harbour master that asks." + +"You've taken a lot on your shoulders," Grief grinned. + +"'Tis the white man's burden. These rapscallion traders have been +puttin' it all over poor Tui Tulif, the best-hearted old monarch +that ever sat a South Sea throne an' mopped grog-root from the imperial +calabash. 'Tis I, Cornelius--Fulualea, rather--that am here to see +justice done. Much as I dislike the doin' of it, as harbour master 'tis +my duty to find you guilty of breach of quarantine." + +"Quarantine?" + +"'Tis the rulin' of the port doctor. No intercourse with the shore till +the ship is passed. What dire calamity to the confidin' native if +chicken pox or whoopin' cough was aboard of you! Who is there to protect +the gentle, confidin' Polynesian? I, Fulualea, the Feathers of the Sun, +on my high mission." + +"Who in hell is the port doctor?" Grief queried. + +"'Tis me, Fulualea. Your offence is serious. Consider yourself fined +five cases of first-quality Holland gin." + +Grief laughed heartily. "We'll compromise, Cornelius. Come aboard and +have a drink." + +The Feathers of the Sun waved the proffer aside grandly. "'Tis bribery. +I'll have none of it--me faithful to my salt. And wherefore did you not +present your ship's papers? As chief of the custom house you are fined +five pounds and two more cases of gin." + +"Look here, Cornelius. A joke's a joke, but this one has gone far +enough. This is not Levuka. I've half a mind to pull your nose for you. +You can't buck me." + +The Feathers of the Sun retreated unsteadily and in alarm. + +"Lay no violence on me," he threatened. "You're right. This is not +Levuka. And by the same token, with Tui Tulifau and the royal army +behind me, buck you is just the thing I can and will. You'll pay them +fines promptly, or I'll confiscate your vessel. You're not the first. +What does that Chink pearl-buyer, Peter Gee, do but slip into harbour, +violatin' all regulations an' makin' rough house for the matter of a +few paltry fines. No; he wouldn't pay 'em, and he's on the beach now +thinkin' it over." + +"You don't mean to say----" + +"Sure an' I do. In the high exercise of office I seized his schooner. A +fifth of the loyal army is now in charge on board of her. She'll be sold +this day week. Some ten tons of shell in the hold, and I'm wonderin' +if I can trade it to you for gin. I can promise you a rare bargain. How +much gin did you say you had?" + +"Still more gin, eh?" + +"An' why not? 'Tis a royal souse is Tui Tulifau. Sure it keeps my wits +workin' overtime to supply him, he's that amazin' liberal with it. The +whole gang of hanger-on chiefs is perpetually loaded to the guards. It's +disgraceful. Are you goin' to pay them fines, Mr. Grief, or is it to +harsher measures I'll be forced?" + +Grief turned impatiently on his heel. + +"Cornelius, you're drunk. Think it over and come to your senses. The +old rollicking South Sea days are gone. You can't play tricks like that +now." + +"If you think you're goin' on board, Mr. Grief, I'll save you the +trouble. I know your kind, I foresaw your stiff-necked stubbornness. An' +it's forestalled you are. 'Tis on the beach you'll find your crew. The +vessel's seized." + +Grief turned back on him in the half-belief still that he was joking. +Fulualea again retreated in alarm. The form of a large man loomed beside +him in the darkness. + +"Is it you, Uiliami?" Fulualea crooned. "Here is another sea pirate. +Stand by me with the strength of thy arm, O Herculean brother." + +"Greeting, Uiliami," Grief said. "Since when has Fitu-Iva come to be +run by a Levuka beachcomber? He says my schooner has been seized. Is it +true?" + +"It is true," Uiliami boomed from his deep chest. "Have you any more +silk shirts like Willie Smee's? Tui Tulifau would like such a shirt. He +has heard of it." + +"'Tis all the same," Fulualea interrupted. "Shirts or schooners, the +king shall have them." + +"Rather high-handed, Cornelius," Grief murmured. "It's rank piracy. You +seized my vessel without giving me a chance." + +"A chance is it? As we stood here, not five minutes gone, didn't you +refuse to pay your fines?" + +"But she was already seized." + +"Sure, an' why not? Didn't I know you'd refuse? 'Tis all fair, an' no +injustice done--Justice, the bright, particular star at whose shining +altar Cornelius Deasy--or Fulualea, 'tis the same thing--ever worships. +Get thee gone, Mr. Trader, or I'll set the palace guards on you. +Uiliami, 'tis a desperate character, this trader man. Call the guards." + +Uiliami blew the whistle suspended on his broad bare chest by a cord +of cocoanut sennit. Grief reached out an angry hand for Cornelius, who +titubated into safety behind Uiliami's massive bulk. A dozen strapping +Polynesians, not one under six feet, ran down the palace walk and ranged +behind their commander. + +"Get thee gone, Mr. Trader," Cornelius ordered. "The interview is +terminated. We'll try your several cases in the mornin'. Appear promptly +at the palace at ten o'clock to answer to the followin' charges, to +wit: breach of the peace; seditious and treasonable utterance; violent +assault on the chief magistrate with intent to cut, wound, maim, an' +bruise; breach of quarantine; violation of harbour regulations; and +gross breakage of custom house rules. In the mornin', fellow, in the +mornin', justice shall be done while the breadfruit falls. And the Lord +have mercy on your soul." + + + + +III + +Before the hour set for the trial Grief, accompanied by Peter Gee, won +access to Tui Tulifau. The king, surrounded by half a dozen chiefs, lay +on mats under the shade of the avocados in the palace compound. Early +as was the hour, palace maids were industriously serving squarefaces of +gin. The king was glad to see his old friend Davida, and regretful +that he had run foul of the new regulations. Beyond that he steadfastly +avoided discussion of the matter in hand. All protests of the +expropriated traders were washed away in proffers of gin. "Have a +drink," was his invariable reply, though once he unbosomed himself +enough to say that Feathers of the Sun was a wonderful man. Never had +palace affairs been so prosperous. Never had there been so much money +in the treasury, nor so much gin in circulation. "Well pleased am I with +Fulualea," he concluded. "Have a drink." + +"We've got to get out of this _pronto_," Grief whispered to Peter Gee a +few minutes later, "or we'll be a pair of boiled owls. Also, I am to be +tried for arson, or heresy, or leprosy, or something, in a few minutes, +and I must control my wits." + +As they withdrew from the royal presence, Grief caught a glimpse of +Sepeli, the queen. She was peering out at her royal spouse and his +fellow tipplers, and the frown on her face gave Grief his cue. Whatever +was to be accomplished must be through her. + +In another shady corner of the big compound Cornelius was holding court. +He had been at it early, for when Grief arrived the case of Willie Smee +was being settled. The entire royal army, save that portion in charge of +the seized vessels, was in attendance. + +"Let the defendant stand up," said Cornelius, "and receive the just and +merciful sentence of the Court for licentious and disgraceful conduct +unbecomin' a supercargo. The defendant says he has no money. Very well. +The Court regrets it has no calaboose. In lieu thereof, and in view +of the impoverished condition of the defendant, the Court fines said +defendant one white silk shirt of the same kind, make and quality at +present worn by defendant." + +Cornelius nodded to several of the soldiers, who led the supercargo away +behind an avocado tree. A minute later he emerged, minus the garment in +question, and sat down beside Grief. + +"What have you been up to?" Grief asked. + +"Blessed if I know. What crimes have you committed?" + +"Next case," said Cornelius in his most extra-legal tones. "David Grief, +defendant, stand up. The Court has considered the evidence in the case, +or cases, and renders the following judgment, to wit:--Shut up!" he +thundered at Grief, who had attempted to interrupt. "I tell you the +evidence has been considered, deeply considered. It is no wish of the +Court to lay additional hardship on the defendant, and the Court takes +this opportunity to warn the defendant that he is liable for contempt. +For open and wanton violation of harbour rules and regulations, breach +of quarantine, and disregard of shipping laws, his schooner, the +_Cantani_, is hereby declared confiscated to the Government of +Fitu-Iva, to be sold at public auction, ten days from date, with +all appurtenances, fittings, and cargo thereunto pertaining. For the +personal crimes of the defendant, consisting of violent and turbulent +conduct and notorious disregard of the laws of the realm, he is fined in +the sum of one hundred pounds sterling and fifteen cases of gin. I will +not ask you if you have anything to say. But will you pay? That is the +question." + +Grief shook his head. + +"In the meantime," Cornelius went on, "consider yourself a prisoner at +large. There is no calaboose in which to confine you. And finally, it +has come to the knowledge of the Court, that at an early hour of this +morning, the defendant did wilfully and deliberately send Kanakas in his +employ out on the reef to catch fish for breakfast. This is distinctly +an infringement of the rights of the fisherfolk of Fitu-Iva. Home +industries must be protected. This conduct of the defendant is severely +reprehended by the Court, and on any repetition of the offence the +offender and offenders, all and sundry, shall be immediately put to hard +labour on the improvement of the Broom Road. The court is dismissed." + +As they left the compound, Peter Gee nudged Grief to look where Tui +Tulifau reclined on the mats. The supercargo's shirt, stretched and +bulged, already encased the royal fat. + + + + +IV + +"The thing is clear," said Peter Gee, at a conference in Ieremia's +house. "Deasy has about gathered in all the coin. In the meantime he +keeps the king going on the gin he's captured, on our vessels. As soon +as he can maneuver it he'll take the cash and skin out on your craft or +mine." + +"He is a low fellow," Ieremia declared, pausing in the polishing of his +spectacles. "He is a scoundrel and a blackguard. He should be struck by +a dead pig, by a particularly dead pig." + +"The very thing," said Grief. "He shall be struck by a dead pig. +Ieremia, I should not be surprised if you were the man to strike him +with the dead pig. Be sure and select a particularly dead one. Tui +Tulifau is down at the boat house broaching a case of my Scotch. I'm +going up to the palace to work kitchen politics with the queen. In the +meantime you get a few things on your shelves from the store-room. I'll +lend you some, Hawkins. And you, Peter, see the German store. Start in +all of you, selling for paper. Remember, I'll back the losses. If +I'm not mistaken, in three days we'll have a national council or a +revolution. You, Ieremia, start messengers around the island to the +fishers and farmers, everywhere, even to the mountain goat-hunters. Tell +them to assemble at the palace three days from now." + +"But the soldiers," Ieremia objected. + +"I'll take care of them. They haven't been paid for two months. Besides, +Uiliami is the queen's brother. Don't have too much on your shelves at a +time. As soon as the soldiers show up with paper, stop selling." + +"Then will they burn the stores," said Ieremia. + +"Let them. King Tulifau will pay for it if they do." + +"Will he pay for my shirt?" Willie Smee demanded. + +"That is purely a personal and private matter between you and Tui +Tulifau," Grief answered. + +"It's beginning to split up the back," the supercargo lamented. "I +noticed that much this morning when he hadn't had it on ten minutes. It +cost me thirty shillings and I only wore it once." + +"Where shall I get a dead pig?" Ieremia asked. + +"Kill one, of course," said Grief. "Kill a small one." + +"A small one is worth ten shillings." + +"Then enter it in your ledger under operating expenses." Grief paused a +moment. "If you want it particularly dead, it would be well to kill it +at once." + + + + +V + +"You have spoken well, Davida," said Queen Sepeli. "This Fulualea has +brought a madness with him, and Tui Tulifau is drowned in gin. If he +does not grant the big council, I shall give him a beating. He is easy +to beat when he is in drink." + +She doubled up her fist, and such were her Amazonian proportions and the +determination in her face that Grief knew the council would be called. +So akin was the Fitu-Ivan tongue to the Samoan that he spoke it like a +native. + +"And you, Uiliami," he said, "have pointed out that the soldiers have +demanded coin and refused the paper Fulualea has offered them. Tell them +to take the paper and see that they be paid to-morrow." + +"Why trouble?" Uiliami objected. "The king remains happily drunk. There +is much money in the treasury. And I am content. In my house are two +cases of gin and much goods from Hawkins's store." + +"Excellent pig, O my brother!" Sepeli erupted. "Has not Davida spoken? +Have you no ears? When the gin and the goods in your house are gone, and +no more traders come with gin and goods, and Feathers of the Sun has run +away to Levuka with all the cash money of Fitu-Iva, what then will you +do? Cash money is silver and gold, but paper is only paper. I tell you +the people are grumbling. There is no fish in the palace. Yams and +sweet potatoes seem to have fled from the soil, for they come not. The +mountain dwellers have sent no wild goat in a week. Though Feathers of +the Sun compels the traders to buy copra at the old price, the people +sell not, for they will have none of the paper money. Only to-day have I +sent messengers to twenty houses. There are no eggs. Has Feathers of the +Sun put a blight upon the hens? I do not know. All I know is that there +are no eggs. Well it is that those who drink much eat little, else would +there be a palace famine. Tell your soldiers to receive their pay. Let +it be in his paper money." + +"And remember," Grief warned, "though there be selling in the stores, +when the soldiers come with their paper it will be refused. And in three +days will be the council, and Feathers of the Sun will be as dead as a +dead pig." + + + + +VI + +The day of the council found the population of the island crowded into +the capital. By canoe and whaleboat, on foot and donkey-back, the five +thousand inhabitants of Fitu-Iva had trooped in. The three intervening +days had had their share of excitement. At first there had been much +selling from the sparse shelves of the traders. But when the soldiers +appeared, their patronage was declined and they were told to go to +Fulualea for coin. "Says it not so on the face of the paper," the +traders demanded, "that for the asking the coin will be given in +exchange?" + +Only the strong authority of Uiliami had prevented the burning of the +traders' houses. As it was, one of Grief's copra-sheds went up in smoke +and was duly charged by Ieremia to the king's account. Ieremia himself +had been abused and mocked, and his spectacles broken. The skin was +off Willie Smee's knuckles. This had been caused by three boisterous +soldiers who violently struck their jaws thereon in quick succession. +Captain Boig was similarly injured. Peter Gee had come off undamaged, +because it chanced that it was bread-baskets and not jaws that struck +him on the fists. + +Tui Tulifau, with Sepeli at his side and surrounded by his convivial +chiefs, sat at the head of the council in the big compound. His +right eye and jaw were swollen as if he too had engaged in assaulting +somebody's fist. It was palace gossip that morning that Sepeli had +administered a conjugal beating. At any rate, her spouse was sober, +and his fat bulged spiritlessly through the rips in Willie Smee's silk +shirt. His thirst was prodigious, and he was continually served with +young drinking nuts. Outside the compound, held back by the army, was +the mass of the common people. Only the lesser chiefs, village maids, +village beaux, and talking men with their staffs of office were +permitted inside. Cornelius Deasy, as befitted a high and favoured +official, sat near to the right hand of the king. On the left of the +queen, opposite Cornelius and surrounded by the white traders he was +to represent, sat Ieremia. Bereft of his spectacles, he peered +short-sightedly across at the Chancellor of the Exchequer. + +In turn, the talking man of the windward coast, the talking man of the +leeward coast, and the talking man of the mountain villages, each backed +by his group of lesser talking men and chiefs, arose and made oration. +What they said was much the same. They grumbled about the paper money. +Affairs were not prosperous. No more copra was being smoked. The people +were suspicious. To such a pass had things come that all people wanted +to pay their debts and no one wanted to be paid. Creditors made a +practice of running away from debtors. The money was cheap. Prices were +going up and commodities were getting scarce. It cost three times the +ordinary price to buy a fowl, and then it was tough and like to die +of old age if not immediately sold. The outlook was gloomy. There were +signs and omens. There was a plague of rats in some districts. The crops +were bad. The custard apples were small. The best-bearing avocado on the +windward coast had mysteriously shed all its leaves. The taste had +gone from the mangoes. The plantains were eaten by a worm. The fish had +forsaken the ocean and vast numbers of tiger-sharks appeared. The wild +goats had fled to inaccessible summits. The poi in the poi-pits had +turned bitter. There were rumblings in the mountains, night-walking +of spirits; a woman of Punta-Puna had been struck speechless, and a +five-legged she-goat had been born in the village of Eiho. And that all +was due to the strange money of Fulualea was the firm conviction of the +elders in the village councils assembled. + +Uiliami spoke for the army. His men were discontented and mutinous. +Though by royal decree the traders were bidden accept the money, yet did +they refuse it. He would not say, but it looked as if the strange money +of Fulualea had something to do with it. + +Ieremia, as talking man of the traders, next spoke. When he arose, it +was noticeable that he stood with legs spraddled over a large grass +basket. He dwelt upon the cloth of the traders, its variety and beauty +and durability, which so exceeded the Fitu-Ivan wet-pounded tapa, +fragile and coarse. No one wore tapa any more. Yet all had worn +tapa, and nothing but tapa, before the traders came. There was the +mosquito-netting, sold for a song, that the cleverest Fitu-Ivan +net-weaver could not duplicate in a thousand years. He enlarged on the +incomparable virtues of rifles, axes, and steel fishhooks, down through +needles, thread and cotton fish-lines to white flour and kerosene oil. + +He expounded at length, with firstlies and secondlies and all minor +subdivisions of argument, on organization, and order, and civilization. +He contended that the trader was the bearer of civilization, and that +the trader must be protected in his trade else he would not come. Over +to the westward were islands which would not protect the traders. What +was the result? The traders would not come, and the people were like +wild animals. They wore no clothes, no silk shirts (here he peered and +blinked significantly at the king), and they ate one another. + +The queer paper of the Feathers of the Sun was not money. The traders +knew what money was, and they would not receive it. If Fitu-Iva +persisted in trying to make them receive it they would go away and never +come back. And then the Fitu-Ivans, who had forgotten how to make tapa, +would run around naked and eat one another. + +Much more he said, talking a solid hour, and always coming back to what +their dire condition would be when the traders came no more. "And in +that day," he perorated, "how will the Fitu-Ivan be known in the great +world? _Kai-kanak_* will men call him. '_Kiakanak! Kai-kanak!_" + + * Man-eater. + +Tui Tulifau spoke briefly. The case had been presented, he said, for the +people, the army, and the traders. It was now time for Feathers of the +Sun to present his side. It could not be denied that he had wrought +wonders with his financial system. "Many times has he explained to me +the working of his system," Tui Tulif au concluded. "It is very simple. +And now he will explain it to you." + +It was a conspiracy of the white traders, Cornelius contended. Ieremia +was right so far as concerned the manifold blessings of white flour +and kerosene oil. Fitu-Iva did not want to become _kai-kanak_. Fitu-Iva +wanted civilization; it wanted more and more civilization. Now that was +the very point, and they must follow him closely. Paper money was an +earmark of higher civilization. That was why he, the Feathers of the +Sun, had introduced it. And that was why the traders opposed it. They +did not want to see Fitu-Iva civilized. Why did they come across the far +ocean stretches with their goods to Fitu-Iva? He, the Feathers of the +Sun, would tell them why, to their faces, in grand council assembled. In +their own countries men were too civilized to let the traders make the +immense profits that they made out of the Fitu-Ivans. If the Fitu-Ivans +became properly civilized, the trade of the traders would be gone. In +that day every Fitu-Ivan could become a trader if he pleased. + +That was why the white traders fought the system of paper money, that +he, the Feathers of the Sun, had brought. Why was he called the Feathers +of the Sun? Because he was the Light-Bringer from the World Beyond the +Sky. The paper money was the light. The robbing white traders could not +flourish in the light. Therefore they fought the light. + +He would prove it to the good people of Fitu-Iva, and he would prove +it out of the mouths of his enemies. It was a well-known fact that all +highly civilized countries had paper-money systems. He would ask Ieremia +if this was not so. + +Ieremia did not answer. + +"You see," Cornelius went on, "he makes no answer. He cannot deny what +is true. England, France, Germany, America, all the great _Papalangi_ +countries, have the paper-money system. It works. From century to +century it works. I challenge you, Ieremia, as an honest man, as one +who was once a zealous worker in the Lord's vineyard, I challenge you to +deny that in the great _Papalangi_ countries the system works." + +Ieremia could not deny, and his fingers played nervously with the +fastening of the basket on his knees. + +"You see, it is as I have said," Cornelius continued. "Ieremia agrees +that it is so. Therefore, I ask you, all good people of Fitu-Iva, if +a system is good for the _Papalangi_ countries, why is it not good for +Fitu-Iva?" + +"It is not the same!" Ieremia cried. "The paper of the Feathers of the +Sun is different from the paper of the great countries." + +That Cornelius had been prepared for this was evident. He held up a +Fitu-Ivan note that was recognized by all. + +"What is that?" he demanded. + +"Paper, mere paper," was Ieremia's reply. + +"And that?" + +This time Cornelius held up a Bank of England note. + +"It is the paper money of the English," he explained to the Council, +at the same time extending it for Ieremia to examine. "Is it not true, +Ieremia, that it is paper money of the English?" + +Ieremia nodded reluctantly. + +"You have said that the paper money of Fitu-Iva was paper, now how about +this of the English? What is it?.... You must answer like a true man... +All wait for your answer, Ieremia." + +"It is--it is----" the puzzled Ieremia began, then spluttered +helplessly, the fallacy beyond his penetration. + +"Paper, mere paper," Cornelius concluded for him, imitating his halting +utterance. + +Conviction sat on the faces of all. The king clapped his hands +admiringly and murmured, "It is most clear, very clear." + +"You see, he himself acknowledges it." Assured triumph was in Deasy's +voice and bearing. "He knows of no difference. There is no difference. +'Tis the very image of money. 'Tis money itself." + +In the meantime Grief was whispering in Ieremia's ear, who nodded and +began to speak. + +"But it is well known to all the _Papalangi_ that the English Government +will pay coin money for the paper." + +Deasy's victory was now absolute. He held aloft a Fitu-Ivan note. + +"Is it not so written on this paper as well?" + +Again Grief whispered. + +"That Fitu-Iva will pay coin money?" asked Ieremia + +"It is so written." + +A third time Grief prompted. + +"On demand?" asked Ieremia. + +"On demand," Cornelius assured him. + +"Then I demand coin money now," said Ieremia, drawing a small package of +notes from the pouch at his girdle. + +Cornelius scanned the package with a quick, estimating eye. + +"Very well," he agreed. "I shall give you the coin money now. How much?" + +"And we will see the system work," the king proclaimed, partaking in his +Chancellor's triumph. + +"You have heard!--He will give coin money now!" Ieremia cried in a loud +voice to the assemblage. + +At the same time he plunged both hands in the basket and drew forth many +packages of Fitu-Ivan notes. It was noticed that a peculiar odour was +adrift about the council. + +"I have here," Ieremia announced, "one thousand and twenty-eight pounds +twelve shillings and sixpence. Here is a sack to put the coin money in." + +Cornelius recoiled. He had not expected such a sum, and everywhere about +the council his uneasy eyes showed him chiefs and talking men drawing +out bundles of notes. The army, its two months' pay in its hands, +pressed forward to the edge of the council, while behind it the +populace, with more money, invaded the compound. + +"'Tis a run on the bank you've precipitated," he said reproachfully to +Grief. + +"Here is the sack to put the coin money in," Ieremia urged. + +"It must be postponed," Cornelius said desperately, "'Tis not in banking +hours." + +Ieremia flourished a package of money. "Nothing of banking hours is +written here. It says on demand, and I now demand." + +"Let them come to-morrow, O Tui Tulifau," Cornelius appealed to the +king. "They shall be paid to-morrow." + +Tui Tulifau hesitated, but his spouse glared at him, her brawny arm +tensing as the fist doubled into a redoubtable knot, Tui Tulifau tried +to look away, but failed. He cleared his throat nervously. + +"We will see the system work," he decreed. "The people have come far." + +"'Tis good money you're asking me to pay out," Deasy muttered in a low +voice to the king. + +Sepeli caught what he said, and grunted so savagely as to startle the +king, who involuntarily shrank away from her. + +"Forget not the pig," Grief whispered to Ieremia, who immediately stood +up. + +With a sweeping gesture he stilled the babel of voices that was +beginning to rise. + +"It was an ancient and honourable custom of Fitu-Iva," he said, "that +when a man was proved a notorious evildoer his joints were broken with +a club and he was staked out at low water to be fed upon alive by the +sharks. Unfortunately, that day is past. Nevertheless another ancient +and honourable custom remains with us. You all know what it is. When a +man is a proven thief and liar he shall be struck with a dead pig." + +His right hand went into the basket, and, despite the lack of his +spectacles, the dead pig that came into view landed accurately on +Deasy's neck. With such force was it thrown that the Chancellor, in +his sitting position, toppled over sidewise. Before he could recover, +Sepeli, with an agility unexpected of a woman who weighed two hundred +and sixty pounds, had sprung across to him. One hand clutched his shirt +collar, the other hand brandished the pig, and amid the vast uproar of a +delighted kingdom she royally swatted him. + +There remained nothing for Tui Tulifau but to put a good face on his +favourite's disgrace, and his mountainous fat lay back on the mats and +shook in a gale of Gargantuan laughter. + +When Sepeli dropped both pig and Chancellor, a talking man from the +windward coast picked up the carcass. Cornelius was on his feet and +running, when the pig caught him on the legs and tripped him. The people +and the army, with shouts and laughter, joined in the sport. + +Twist and dodge as he would, everywhere the ex-Chancellor of the +Exchequer was met or overtaken by the flying pig. He scuttled like a +frightened rabbit in and out among the avocados and the palms. No hand +was laid upon him, and his tormentors made way before him, but ever they +pursued, and ever the pig flew as fast as hands could pick it up. + +As the chase died away down the Broom Road, Grief led the traders to the +royal treasury, and the day was well over ere the last Fitu-Ivan bank +note had been redeemed with coin. + + + + +VII + +Through the mellow cool of twilight a man paddled out from a clump of +jungle to the _Cantani_. It was a leaky and abandoned dugout, and he +paddled slowly, desisting from time to time in order to bale. The +Kanaka sailors giggled gleefully as he came alongside and painfully +drew himself over the rail. He was bedraggled and filthy, and seemed +half-dazed. + +"Could I speak a word with you, Mr. Grief?" he asked sadly and humbly. + +"Sit to leeward and farther away," Grief answered. "A little farther +away. That's better." + +Cornelius sat down on the rail and held his head in both his hands. + +"'Tis right," he said. "I'm as fragrant as a recent battlefield. My head +aches to burstin'. My neck is fair broken. The teeth are loose in my +jaws. There's nests of hornets buzzin' in my ears. My medulla oblongata +is dislocated. I've been through earthquake and pestilence, and the +heavens have rained pigs." He paused with a sigh that ended in a groan. +"'Tis a vision of terrible death. One that the poets never dreamed. To +be eaten by rats, or boiled in oil, or pulled apart by wild horses--that +would be unpleasant. But to be beaten to death with a dead pig!" +He shuddered at the awfulness of it. "Sure it transcends the human +imagination." + +Captain Boig sniffed audibly, moved his canvas chair farther to +windward, and sat down again. + +"I hear you're runnin' over to Yap, Mr. Grief," Cornelius went on. "An' +two things I'm wantin' to beg of you: a passage an' the nip of the old +smoky I refused the night you landed." + +Grief clapped his hands for the black steward and ordered soap and +towels. + +"Go for'ard, Cornelius, and take a scrub first," he said. "The boy will +bring you a pair of dungarees and a shirt. And by the way, before you +go, how was it we found more coin in the treasury than paper you had +issued?" + +"'Twas the stake of my own I'd brought with me for the adventure." + +"We've decided to charge the demurrage and other expenses and loss to +Tui Tulifau," Grief said. "So the balance we found will be turned over +to you. But ten shillings must be deducted." + +"For what?" + +"Do you think dead pigs grow on trees? The sum of ten shillings for that +pig is entered in the accounts." + +Cornelius bowed his assent with a shudder. + +"Sure it's grateful I am it wasn't a fifteen-shilling pig or a +twenty-shilling one." + + + + + +Chapter Eight--THE PEARLS OF PARLAY + + + + +I + +The Kanaka helmsman put the wheel down, and the _Malahini_ slipped into +the eye of the wind and righted to an even keel. Her head-sails emptied, +there was a rat-tat of reef-points and quick shifting of boom-tackles, +and she was heeled over and filled away on the other tack. Though it was +early morning and the wind brisk, the five white men who lounged on +the poop-deck were scantily clad. David Grief, and his guest, Gregory +Mulhall, an Englishman, were still in pajamas, their naked feet thrust +into Chinese slippers. The captain and mate were in thin undershirts and +unstarched duck pants, while the supercargo still held in his hands +the undershirt he was reluctant to put on. The sweat stood out on his +forehead, and he seemed to thrust his bare chest thirstily into the wind +that did not cool. + +"Pretty muggy, for a breeze like this," he complained. + +"And what's it doing around in the west? That's what I want to know," +was Grief's contribution to the general plaint. + +"It won't last, and it ain't been there long," said Hermann, the Holland +mate. "She is been chop around all night--five minutes here, ten minutes +there, one hour somewhere other quarter." + +"Something makin ', something makin '," Captain Warfield croaked, +spreading his bushy beard with the fingers of both hands and shoving +the thatch of his chin into the breeze in a vain search for coolness. +"Weather's been crazy for a fortnight. Haven't had the proper trades in +three weeks. Everything's mixed up. Barometer was pumping at sunset last +night, and it's pumping now, though the weather sharps say it don't mean +anything. All the same, I've got a prejudice against seeing it pump. +Gets on my nerves, sort of, you know. She was pumping that way the time +we lost the _Lancaster_. I was only an apprentice, but I can remember +that well enough. Brand new, four-masted steel ship; first voyage; broke +the old man's heart. He'd been forty years in the company. Just faded +way and died the next year." + +Despite the wind and the early hour, the heat was suffocating. The wind +whispered coolness, but did not deliver coolness. It might have blown +off the Sahara, save for the extreme humidity with which it was laden. +There was no fog nor mist, nor hint of fog or mist, yet the dimness of +distance produced the impression. There were no defined clouds, yet +so thickly were the heavens covered by a messy cloud-pall that the sun +failed to shine through. + +"Ready about!" Captain Warfield ordered with slow sharpness. + +The brown, breech-clouted Kanaka sailors moved languidly but quickly to +head-sheets and boom-tackles. + +"Hard a-lee!" + +The helmsman ran the spokes over with no hint of gentling, and the +_Malahini_ darted prettily into the wind and about. + +"Jove! she's a witch!" was Mulhall's appreciation. "I didn't know you +South Sea traders sailed yachts." + +"She was a Gloucester fisherman originally," Grief explained, "and +the Gloucester boats are all yachts when it comes to build, rig, and +sailing." + +"But you're heading right in--why don't you make it?" came the +Englishman's criticism. + +"Try it, Captain Warfield," Grief suggested. "Show him what a lagoon +entrance is on a strong ebb." + +"Close-and-by!" the captain ordered. + +"Close-and-by," the Kanaka repeated, easing half a spoke. + +The _Malahini_ laid squarely into the narrow passage which was the +lagoon entrance _of_ a large, long, and narrow oval of an atoll. The +atoll was shaped as if three atolls, in the course of building, had +collided and coalesced and failed to rear the partition walls. Cocoanut +palms grew in spots on the circle of sand, and there were many gaps +where the sand was too low to the sea for cocoanuts, and through which +could be seen the protected lagoon where the water lay flat like the +ruffled surface of a mirror. Many square miles of water were in the +irregular lagoon, all of which surged out on the ebb through the one +narrow channel. So narrow was the channel, so large the outflow of +water, that the passage was more like the rapids of a river than the +mere tidal entrance to an atoll. The water boiled and whirled and +swirled and drove outward in a white foam of stiff, serrated waves. Each +heave and blow on her bows of the upstanding waves of the current swung +the Malahini off the straight lead and wedged her as with wedges of +steel toward the side of the passage. Part way in she was, when her +closeness to the coral edge compelled her to go about. On the opposite +tack, broadside to the current, she swept seaward with the current's +speed. + +"Now's the time for that new and expensive engine of yours," Grief +jeered good-naturedly. + +That the engine was a sore point with Captain Warfield was patent. He +had begged and badgered for it, until in the end Grief had given his +consent. + +"It will pay for itself yet," the captain retorted, "You wait and +see. It beats insurance and you know the underwriters won't stand for +insurance in the Paumotus." + +Grief pointed to a small cutter beating up astern of them on the same +course. + +"I'll wager a five-franc piece the little Nuhiva beats us in." + +"Sure," Captain Warfield agreed. "She's overpowered. We're like a liner +alongside of her, and we've only got forty horsepower. She's got ten +horse, and she's a little skimming dish. She could skate across the +froth of hell, but just the same she can't buck this current. It's +running ten knots right now." + +And at the rate of ten knots, buffeted and jerkily rolled, the +_Malahini_ went out to sea with the tide. + +"She'll slacken in half an hour--then we'll make headway," Captain +Warfield said, with an irritation explained by his next words. "He has +no right to call it Parlay. It's down on the admiralty charts, and the +French charts, too, as Hikihoho. Bougainville discovered it and named it +from the natives." + +"What's the name matter?" the supercargo demanded, taking advantage of +speech to pause with arms shoved into the sleeves of the undershirt. +"There it is, right under our nose, and old Parlay is there with the +pearls." + +"Who see them pearl?" Hermann queried, looking from one to another. + +"It's well known," was the supercargo's reply. He turned to the +steersman: "Tai-Hotauri, what about old Parlay's pearls?" + +The Kanaka, pleased and self-conscious, took and gave a spoke. + +"My brother dive for Parlay three, four month, and he make much talk +about pearl. Hikihoho very good place for pearl." + +"And the pearl-buyers have never got him to part with a pearl," the +captain broke in. + +"And they say he had a hatful for Armande when he sailed for Tahiti," +the supercargo carried on the tale. "That's fifteen years ago, and he's +been adding to it ever since--stored the shell as well. Everybody's seen +that--hundreds of tons of it. They say the lagoon's fished clean now. +Maybe that's why he's announced the auction." + +"If he really sells, this will be the biggest year's output of pearls in +the Paumotus," Grief said. + +"I say, now, look here!" Mulhall burst forth, harried by the humid +heat as much as the rest of them. "What's it all about? Who's the old +beachcomber anyway? What are all these pearls? Why so secretious about +it?" + +"Hikihoho belongs to old Parlay," the supercargo answered. "He's got a +fortune in pearls, saved up for years and years, and he sent the word +out weeks ago that he'd auction them off to the buyers to-morrow. See +those schooners' masts sticking up inside the lagoon?" + +"Eight, so I see," said Hermann. + +"What are they doing in a dinky atoll like this?" the supercargo went +on. "There isn't a schooner-load of copra a year in the place. They've +come for the auction. That's why we're here. That's why the little +_Nuhiva's_ bumping along astern there, though what she can buy is beyond +me. Narii Herring--he's an English Jew half-caste--owns and runs her, +and his only assets are his nerve, his debts, and his whiskey bills. +He's a genius in such things. He owes so much that there isn't a +merchant in Papeete who isn't interested in his welfare. They go out of +their way to throw work in his way. They've got to, and a dandy stunt it +is for Narii. Now I owe nobody. What's the result? If I fell down in +a fit on the beach they'd let me lie there and die. They wouldn't lose +anything. But Narii Herring?--what wouldn't they do if he fell in a fit? +Their best wouldn't be too good for him. They've got too much money +tied up in him to let him lie. They'd take him into their homes and +hand-nurse him like a brother. Let me tell you, honesty in paying bills +ain't what it's cracked up to be." + +"What's this Narii chap got to do with it?" was the Englishman's +short-tempered demand. And, turning to Grief, he said, "What's all this +pearl nonsense? Begin at the beginning." + +"You'll have to help me out," Grief warned the others, as he began. "Old +Parlay is a character. From what I've seen of him I believe he's partly +and mildly insane. Anyway, here's the story: Parlay's a full-blooded +Frenchman. He told me once that he came from Paris. His accent is the +true Parisian. He arrived down here in the old days. Went to trading +and all the rest. That's how he got in on Hikihoho. Came in trading when +trading was the real thing. About a hundred miserable Paumotans lived +on the island. He married the queen--native fashion. When she died, +everything was his. Measles came through, and there weren't more than a +dozen survivors. He fed them, and worked them, and was king. Now before +the queen died she gave birth to a girl. That's Armande. When she was +three he sent her to the convent at Papeete. When she was seven or eight +he sent her to France. You begin to glimpse the situation. The best +and most aristocratic convent in France was none too good for the only +daughter of a Paumotan island king and capitalist, and you know the old +country French draw no colour line. She was educated like a princess, +and she accepted herself in much the same way. Also, she thought she was +all-white, and never dreamed of a bar sinister. + +"Now comes the tragedy. The old man had always been cranky and erratic, +and he'd played the despot on Hikihoho so long that he'd got the idea +in his head that there was nothing wrong with the king--or the princess +either. When Armande was eighteen he sent for her. He had slews and +slathers of money, as Yankee Bill would say. He'd built the big house on +Hikihoho, and a whacking fine bungalow in Papeete. She was to arrive on +the mail boat from New Zealand, and he sailed in his schooner to meet +her at Papeete. And he might have carried the situation off, despite the +hens and bull-beasts of Papeete, if it hadn't been for the hurricane. +That was the year, wasn't it, when Manu-Huhi was swept and eleven +hundred drowned?" + +The others nodded, and Captain Warfield said: "I was in the _Magpie_ +that blow, and we went ashore, all hands and the cook, _Magpie_ and all, +a quarter of a mile into the cocoanuts at the head of Taiohae Bay--and +it a supposedly hurricane-proof harbour." + +"Well," Grief continued, "old Parlay got caught in the same blow, and +arrived in Papeete with his hatful of pearls three weeks too late. He'd +had to jack up his schooner and build half a mile of ways before he +could get her back into the sea. + +"And in the meantime there was Armande at Papeete. Nobody called on her. +She did, French fashion, make the initial calls on the Governor and the +port doctor. They saw her, but neither of their hen-wives was at home to +her nor returned the call. She was out of caste, without caste, though +she had never dreamed it, and that was the gentle way they broke the +information to her. There was a gay young lieutenant on the French +cruiser. He lost his heart to her, but not his head. You can imagine +the shock to this young woman, refined, beautiful, raised like an +aristocrat, pampered with the best of old France that money could buy. +And you can guess the end." He shrugged his shoulders. "There was a +Japanese servant in the bungalow. He saw it. Said she did it with the +proper spirit of the Samurai. Took a stiletto--no thrust, no drive, +no wild rush for annihilation--took the stiletto, placed the point +carefully against her heart, and with both hands, slowly and steadily, +pressed home. + +"Old Parlay arrived after that with his pearls. There was one single one +of them, they say, worth sixty thousand francs. Peter Gee saw it, and +has told me he offered that much for it. The old man went clean off for +a while. They had him strait-jacketed in the Colonial Club two days----" + +"His wife's uncle, an old Paumotan, cut him out of the jacket and turned +him loose," the supercargo corroborated. + +"And then old Parlay proceeded to eat things up," Grief went on. "Pumped +three bullets into the scalawag of a lieutenant----" + +"Who lay in sick bay for three months," Captain Warfield contributed. + +"Flung a glass of wine in the Governor's face; fought a duel with the +port doctor; beat up his native servants; wrecked the hospital; broke +two ribs and the collarbone of a man nurse, and escaped; and went down +to his schooner, a gun in each hand, daring the chief of police and all +the gendarmes to arrest him, and sailed for Hikihoho. And they say he's +never left the island since." + +The supercargo nodded. "That was fifteen years ago, and he's never +budged." + +"And added to his pearls," said the captain. "He's a blithering old +lunatic. Makes my flesh creep. He's a regular Finn." + +"What's that?" Mulhall inquired. + +"Bosses the weather--that's what the natives believe, at any rate. Ask +Tai-Hotauri there. Hey, Tai-Hotauri! what you think old Parlay do along +weather?" + +"Just the same one big weather devil," came the Kanaka's answer. "I +know. He want big blow, he make big blow. He want no wind, no wind +come." + +"A regular old Warlock," said Mulhall. + +"No good luck them pearl," Tai-Hotauri blurted out, rolling his head +ominously. "He say he sell. Plenty schooner come. Then he make big +hurricane, everybody finish, you see. All native men say so." + +"It's hurricane season now," Captain War-field laughed morosely. +"They're not far wrong. It's making for something right now, and I'd +feel better if the _Malahini_ was a thousand miles away from here." + +"He is a bit mad," Grief concluded. "I've tried to get his point of +view. It's--well, it's mixed. For eighteen years he'd centred everything +on Armande. Half the time he believes she's still alive, not yet come +back from France. That's one of the reasons he held on to the pearls. +And all the time he hates white men. He never forgets they killed her, +though a great deal of the time he forgets she's dead. Hello! Where's +your wind?" + +The sails bellied emptily overhead, and Captain Warfield grunted his +disgust. Intolerable as the heat had been, in the absence of wind it +was almost overpowering. The sweat oozed out on all their faces, and now +one, and again another, drew deep breaths, involuntarily questing for +more air. + +"Here she comes again--an eight point haul! Boom-tackles across! Jump!" + +The Kanakas sprang to the captain's orders, and for five minutes the +schooner laid directly into the passage and even gained on the current. +Again the breeze fell flat, then puffed from the old quarter, compelling +a shift back of sheets and tackles. + +"Here comes the _Nuhiva_" Grief said. "She's got her engine on. Look at +her skim." + +"All ready?" the captain asked the engineer, a Portuguese half-caste, +whose head and shoulders protruded from the small hatch just for'ard of +the cabin, and who wiped the sweat from his face with a bunch of greasy +waste. + +"Sure," he replied. + +"Then let her go." + +The engineer disappeared into his den, and a moment later the exhaust +muffler coughed and spluttered overside. But the schooner could not hold +her lead. The little cutter made three feet to her two and was quickly +alongside and forging ahead. Only natives were on her deck, and the man +steering waved his hand in derisive greeting and farewell. + +"That's Narii Herring," Grief told Mulhall. "The big fellow at the +wheel--the nerviest and most conscienceless scoundrel in the Paumotus." + +Five minutes later a cry of joy from their own Kanakas centred all eyes +on the _Nuhiva_. Her engine had broken down and they were overtaking +her. The _Malahini's_ sailors sprang into the rigging and jeered as they +went by; the little cutter heeled over by the wind with a bone in her +teeth, going backward on the tide. + +"Some engine that of ours," Grief approved, as the lagoon opened before +them and the course was changed across it to the anchorage. + +Captain Warfield was visibly cheered, though he merely grunted, "It'll +pay for itself, never fear." + +The _Malahini_ ran well into the centre of the little fleet ere she +found swinging room to anchor. + +"There's Isaacs on the _Dolly_," Grief observed, with a hand wave of +greeting. "And Peter Gee's on the _Roberta_. Couldn't keep him away from +a pearl sale like this. And there's Francini on the _Cactus_. They're +all here, all the buyers. Old Parlay will surely get a price." + +"They haven't repaired the engine yet," Captain Warfield grumbled +gleefully. + +He was looking across the lagoon to where the _Nuhiva's_ sails showed +through the sparse cocoa-nuts. + + + + +II + +The house of Parlay was a big two-story frame affair, built of +California lumber, with a galvanized iron roof. So disproportionate +was it to the slender ring of the atoll that it showed out upon the +sand-strip and above it like some monstrous excrescence. They of the +_Malahini_ paid the courtesy visit ashore immediately after anchoring. +Other captains and buyers were in the big room examining the pearls that +were to be auctioned next day. Paumotan servants, natives of Hikihoho, +and relatives of the owner, moved about dispensing whiskey and absinthe. +And through the curious company moved Parlay himself, cackling and +sneering, the withered wreck of what had once been a tall and powerful +man. His eyes were deep sunken and feverish, his cheeks fallen in and +cavernous. The hair of his head seemed to have come out in patches, and +his mustache and imperial had shed in the same lopsided way. + +"Jove!" Mulhall muttered under his breath. "A long-legged Napoleon the +Third, but burnt out, baked, and fire-crackled. And mangy! No wonder he +crooks his head to one side. He's got to keep the balance." + +"Goin' to have a blow," was the old man's greeting to Grief. "You must +think a lot of pearls to come a day like this." + +"They're worth going to inferno for," Grief laughed genially back, +running his eyes over the surface of the table covered by the display. + +"Other men have already made that journey for them," old Parlay cackled. +"See this one!" He pointed to a large, perfect pearl the size of a small +walnut that lay apart on a piece of chamois. "They offered me sixty +thousand francs for it in Tahiti. They'll bid as much and more for it +to-morrow, if they aren't blown away. Well, that pearl, it was found by +my cousin, my cousin by marriage. He was a native, you see. Also, he +was a thief. He hid it. It was mine. His cousin, who was also my +cousin--we're all related here--killed him for it and fled away in a +cutter to Noo-Nau. I pursued, but the chief of Noo-Nau had killed him +for it before I got there. Oh, yes, there are many dead men represented +on the table there. Have a drink, Captain. Your face is not familiar. +You are new in the islands?" + +"It's Captain Robinson of the _Roberta_," Grief said, introducing them. + +In the meantime Mulhall had shaken hands with Peter Gee. + +"I never fancied there were so many pearls in the world," Mulhall said. + +"Nor have I ever seen so many together at one time," Peter Gee admitted. + +"What ought they to be worth?" + +"Fifty or sixty thousand pounds--and that's to us buyers. In +Paris----" He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his eyebrows at the +incommunicableness of the sum. + +Mulhall wiped the sweat from his eyes. All were sweating profusely +and breathing hard. There was no ice in the drink that was served, and +whiskey and absinthe went down lukewarm. + +"Yes, yes," Parlay was cackling. "Many dead men lie on the table +there. I know those pearls, all of them. You see those three! Perfectly +matched, aren't they? A diver from Easter Island got them for me inside +a week. Next week a shark got him; took his arm off and blood poison did +the business. And that big baroque there--nothing much--if I'm +offered twenty francs for it to-morrow I'll be in luck; it came out of +twenty-two fathoms of water. The man was from Raratonga. He broke all +diving records. He got it out of twenty-two fathoms. I saw him. And he +burst his lungs at the same time, or got the 'bends,' for he died in two +hours. He died screaming. They could hear him for miles. He was the most +powerful native I ever saw. Half a dozen of my divers have died of the +bends. And more men will die, more men will die." + +"Oh, hush your croaking, Parlay," chided one of the captains. "It ain't +going to blow." + +"If I was a strong man, I couldn't get up hook and get out fast enough," +the old man retorted in the falsetto of age. "Not if I was a strong man +with the taste for wine yet in my mouth. But not you. You'll all stay, I +wouldn't advise you if I thought you'd go, You can't drive buzzards away +from the carrion. Have another drink, my brave sailor-men. Well, well, +what men will dare for a few little oyster drops! There they are, the +beauties! Auction to-morrow, at ten sharp. Old Parlay's selling out, and +the buzzards are gathering--old Parlay who was a stronger man in his day +than any of them and who will see most of them dead yet." + +"If he isn't a vile old beast!" the supercargo of the _Malahini_ +whispered to Peter Gee. + +"What if she does blow?" said the captain of the _Dolly_. "Hikihoho's +never been swept." + +"The more reason she will be, then," Captain Warfield answered back. "I +wouldn't trust her." + +"Who's croaking now?" Grief reproved. + +"I'd hate to lose that new engine before it paid for itself," Captain +Warfield replied gloomily. + +Parlay skipped with astonishing nimbleness across the crowded room to +the barometer on the wall. + +"Take a look, my brave sailormen!" he cried exultantly. + +The man nearest read the glass. The sobering effect showed plainly on +his face. + +"It's dropped ten," was all he said, yet every face went anxious, and +there was a look as if every man desired immediately to start for the +door. + +"Listen!" Parlay commanded. + +In the silence the outer surf seemed to have become unusually loud. +There was a great rumbling roar. + +"A big sea is beginning to set," some one said; and there was a movement +to the windows, where all gathered. + +Through the sparse cocoanuts they gazed seaward. An orderly succession +of huge smooth seas was rolling down upon the coral shore. For some +minutes they gazed on the strange sight and talked in low voices, and in +those few minutes it was manifest to all that the waves were increasing +in size. It was uncanny, this rising sea in a dead calm, and their +voices unconsciously sank lower. Old Parlay shocked them with his abrupt +cackle. + +"There is yet time to get away to sea, brave gentlemen. You can tow +across the lagoon with your whaleboats." + +"It's all right, old man," said Darling, the mate of the _Cactus_, a +stalwart youngster of twenty-five. "The blow's to the southward and +passing on. We'll not get a whiff of it." + +An air of relief went through the room. Conversations were started, and +the voices became louder. Several of the buyers even went back to the +table to continue the examination of the pearls. + +Parlay's shrill cackle rose higher. + +"That's right," he encouraged. "If the world was coming to an end you'd +go on buying." + +"We'll buy these to-morrow just the same," Isaacs assured him. + +"Then you'll be doing your buying in hell." + +The chorus of incredulous laughter incensed the old man. He turned +fiercely on Darling. + +"Since when have children like you come to the knowledge of storms? And +who is the man who has plotted the hurricane-courses of the Paumotus? +What books will you find it in? I sailed the Paumotus before the oldest +of you drew breath. I know. To the eastward the paths of the hurricanes +are on so wide a circle they make a straight line. To the westward here +they make a sharp curve. Remember your chart. How did it happen the +hurricane of '91 swept Auri and Hiolau? The curve, my brave boy, the +curve! In an hour, or two or three at most, will come the wind. Listen +to that!" + +A vast rumbling crash shook the coral foundations of the atoll. The +house quivered to it. The native servants, with bottles of whiskey and +absinthe in their hands, shrank together as if for protection and stared +with fear through the windows at the mighty wash of the wave lapping far +up the beach to the corner of a copra-shed. + +Parlay looked at the barometer, giggled, and leered around at his +guests. Captain War-field strode across to see. + +"29:75," he read. "She's gone down five more. By God! the old devil's +right. She's a-coming, and it's me, for one, for aboard." + +"It's growing dark," Isaacs half whispered. + +"Jove! it's like a stage," Mulhall said to Grief, looking at his watch. +"Ten o'clock in the morning, and it's like twilight. Down go the lights +for the tragedy. Where's the slow music!" + +In answer, another rumbling crash shook the atoll and the house. Almost +in a panic the company started for the door. In the dim light their +sweaty faces appeared ghastly. Isaacs panted asthmatically in the +suffocating heat. + +"What's your haste?" Parlay chuckled and girded at his departing guests. +"A last drink, brave gentlemen." No one noticed him. As they took the +shell-bordered path to the beach he stuck his head out the door and +called, "Don't forget, gentlemen, at ten to-morrow old Parlay sells his +pearls." + + + + +III + +On the beach a curious scene took place. Whaleboat after whaleboat was +being hurriedly manned and shoved off. It had grown still darker. The +stagnant calm continued, and the sand shook under their feet with each +buffet of the sea on the outer shore. Narii Herring walked leisurely +along the sand. He grinned at the very evident haste of the captains and +buyers. With him were three of his Kanakas, and also Tai-Hotauri. + +"Get into the boat and take an oar," Captain Warfield ordered the +latter. + +Tai-Hotauri came over jauntily, while Narii Herring and his three +Kanakas paused and looked on from forty feet away. + +"I work no more for you, skipper," Tai-Hotauri said insolently and +loudly. But his face belied his words, for he was guilty of a +prodigious wink. "Fire me, skipper," he huskily whispered, with a second +significant wink. + +Captain Warfield took the cue and proceeded to do some acting himself. +He raised his fist and his voice. + +"Get into that boat," he thundered, "or I'll knock seven bells out of +you!" + +The Kanaka drew back truculently, and Grief stepped between to placate +his captain. + +"I go to work on the _Nuhiva_," Tai-Hotauri said, rejoining the other +group. + +"Come back here!" the captain threatened. + +"He's a free man, skipper," Narii Herring spoke up. "He's sailed with me +in the past, and he's sailing again, that's all." + +"Come on, we must get on board," Grief urged. "Look how dark it's +getting." + +Captain Warfield gave in, but as the boat shoved off he stood up in the +sternsheets and shook his fist ashore. + +"I'll settle with you yet, Narii," he cried. "You're the only skipper in +the group that steals other men's sailors," He sat down, and in lowered +voice queried: "Now what's Tai-Hotauri up to? He's on to something, but +what is it?" + + + + +IV + +As the boat came alongside the _Malahini_, Hermann's anxious face +greeted them over the rail. + +"Bottom out fall from barometer," he announced. "She's goin' to blow. I +got starboard anchor overhaul." + +"Overhaul the big one, too," Captain Warfield ordered, taking charge. +"And here, some of you, hoist in this boat. Lower her down to the deck +and lash her bottom up." + +Men were busy at work on the decks of all the schooners. There was a +great clanking of chains being overhauled, and now one craft, and +now another, hove in, veered, and dropped a second anchor. Like the +_Malahini_, those that had third anchors were preparing to drop them +when the wind showed what quarter it was to blow from. + +The roar of the big surf continually grew though the lagoon lay in the +mirror-like calm. + +There was no sign of life where Parlay's big house perched on the sand. +Boat and copra-sheds and the sheds where the shell was stored were +deserted. + +"For two cents I'd up anchors and get out," Grief said. "I'd do it +anyway if it were open sea. But those chains of atolls to the north and +east have us pocketed. We've a better chance right here. What do you +think, Captain Warfield?" + +"I agree with you, though a lagoon is no mill-pond for riding it out. +I wonder where she's going to start from? Hello! There goes one of +Parlay's copra-sheds." + +They could see the grass-thatched shed lift and collapse, while a froth +of foam cleared the crest of the sand and ran down to the lagoon. + +"Breached across!" Mulhall exclaimed. "That's something for a starter. +There she comes again!" + +The wreck of the shed was now flung up and left on the sand-crest, A +third wave buffeted it into fragments which washed down the slope toward +the lagoon. + +"If she blow I would as be cooler yet," Hermann grunted. "No longer can +I breathe. It is damn hot. I am dry like a stove." + +He chopped open a drinking cocoanut with his heavy sheath-knife and +drained the contents. The rest of them followed his example, pausing +once to watch one of Parlay's shell sheds go down in ruin. The barometer +now registered 29:50. + +"Must be pretty close to the centre of the area of low pressure," Grief +remarked cheerfully. "I was never through the eye of a hurricane before. +It will be an experience for you, too, Mulhall. From the speed the +barometer's dropped, it's going to be a big one." + +Captain Warfield groaned, and all eyes drew to him. He was looking +through the glasses down the length of the lagoon to the southeast. + +"There she comes," he said quietly. + +They did not need glasses to see. A flying film, strangely marked, +seemed drawing over the surface of the lagoon. Abreast of it, along the +atoll, travelling with equal speed, was a stiff bending of the cocoanut +palms and a blur of flying leaves. The front of the wind on the water +was a solid, sharply defined strip of dark-coloured, wind-vexed water. +In advance of this strip, like skirmishers, were flashes of windflaws. +Behind this strip, a quarter of a mile in width, was a strip of what +seemed glassy calm. Next came another dark strip of wind, and behind +that the lagoon was all crisping, boiling whiteness. + +"What is that calm streak?" Mulhall asked. + +"Calm," Warfield answered. + +"But it travels as fast as the wind," was the other's objection. + +"It has to, or it would be overtaken and it wouldn't be any calm. It's +a double-header, I saw a big squall like that off Savaii once. A regular +double-header. Smash! it hit us, then it lulled to nothing, and smashed +us a second time. Stand by and hold on! Here she is on top of us. Look +at the _Roberta!_" + +The Roberta, lying nearest to the wind at slack chains, was swept off +broadside like a straw. Then her chains brought her up, bow on to the +wind, with an astonishing jerk. Schooner after schooner, the _Malahini_ +with them, was now sweeping away with the first gust and fetching up +on taut chains. Mulhall and several of the Kanakas were taken off their +feet when the _Malahini_ jerked to her anchors. + +And then there was no wind. The flying calm streak had reached +them. Grief lighted a match, and the unshielded flame burned without +flickering in the still air. A very dim twilight prevailed. The +cloud-sky, lowering as it had been for hours, seemed now to have +descended quite down upon the sea. + +The Roberta tightened to her chains when the second head of the +hurricane hit, as did schooner after schooner in swift succession. The +sea, white with fury, boiled in tiny, spitting wavelets. The deck of the +_Malahini_ vibrated under the men's feet. The taut-stretched halyards +beat a tattoo against the masts, and all the rigging, as if smote by +some mighty hand, set up a wild thrumming. It was impossible to face the +wind and breathe. Mulhall, crouching with the others behind the shelter +of the cabin, discovered this, and his lungs were filled in an instant +with so great a volume of driven air which he could not expel that he +nearly strangled ere he could turn his head away. + +"It's incredible," he gasped, but no one heard him. + +Hermann and several Kanakas were crawling for'ard on hands and knees to +let go the third anchor. Grief touched Captain Warfield and pointed to +the _Roberta_. She was dragging down upon them. Warfield put his mouth +to Grief's ear and shouted: + +"We're dragging, too!" + +Grief sprang to the wheel and put it hard over, veering the _Mahhini_ +to port. The third anchor took hold, and the _Roberta_ went by, +stern-first, a dozen yards away. They waved their hands to Peter Gee +and Captain Robinson, who, with a number of sailors, were at work on the +bow. + +"He's knocking out the shackles!" Grief shouted. "Going to chance the +passage! Got to! Anchors skating!" + +"We're holding now!" came the answering shout. "There goes the _Cactus_ +down on the _Misi_. That settles them!" + +The _Misi_ had been holding, but the added windage of the _Cactus_ +was too much, and the entangled schooners slid away across the boiling +white. Their men could be seen chopping and fighting to get them apart. +The _Roberta_, cleared of her anchors, with a patch of tarpaulin set +for'ard, was heading for the passage at the northwestern end of the +lagoon. They saw her make it and drive out to sea. But the _Misi_ and +_Cactus_, unable to get clear of each other, went ashore on the atoll +half a mile from the passage. The wind merely increased on itself and +continued to increase. To face the full blast of it required all one's +strength, and several minutes of crawling on deck against it tired a man +to exhaustion. Hermann, with his Kanakas, plodded steadily, lashing and +making secure, putting ever more gaskets on the sails. The wind ripped +and tore their thin undershirts from their backs. They moved slowly, as +if their bodies weighed tons, never releasing a hand-hold until another +had been secured. Loose ends of rope stood out stiffly horizontal, and, +when a whipping gave, the loose end frazzled and blew away. + +Mulhall touched one and then another and pointed to the shore. The +grass-sheds had disappeared, and Parlay's house rocked drunkenly, +Because the wind blew lengthwise along the atoll, the house had been +sheltered by the miles of cocoanut trees. But the big seas, breaking +across from outside, were undermining it and hammering it to pieces. +Already tilted down the slope of sand, its end was imminent. Here and +there in the cocoanut trees people had lashed themselves. The trees did +not sway or thresh about. Bent over rigidly from the wind, they remained +in that position and vibrated monstrously. Underneath, across the sand, +surged the white spume of the breakers. A big sea was likewise making +down the length of the lagoon. It had plenty of room to kick up in +the ten-mile stretch from the windward rim of the atoll, and all the +schooners were bucking and plunging into it. The _Malahini_ had begun +shoving her bow and fo'c'sle head under the bigger ones, and at times +her waist was filled rail-high with water. + +"Now's the time for your engine!" Grief bellowed; and Captain Warfield, +crawling over to where the engineer lay, shouted emphatic commands. + +Under the engine, going full speed ahead, the _Malahini_ behaved better. +While she continued to ship seas over her bow, she was not jerked down +so fiercely by her anchors. On the other hand, she was unable to get any +slack in the chains. The best her forty horsepower could do was to ease +the strain. + +Still the wind increased. The little _Nuhiva_, lying abreast of the +_Malahini_ and closer in to the beach, her engine still unrepaired and +her captain ashore, was having a bad time of it. She buried herself so +frequently and so deeply that they wondered each time if she could clear +herself of the water. At three in the afternoon buried by a second sea +before she could free herself of the preceding one, she did not come up. + +Mulhall looked at Grief. + +"Burst in her hatches," was the bellowed answer. + +Captain Warfield pointed to the _Winifred_, a little schooner plunging +and burying outside of them, and shouted in Grief's ear. His voice came +in patches of dim words, with intervals of silence when whisked away by +the roaring wind. + +"Rotten little tub... Anchors hold... But how she holds together... Old +as the ark----" + +An hour later Hermann pointed to her. Her for'ard bitts, foremast, and +most of her bow were gone, having been jerked out of her by her anchors. +She swung broadside, rolling in the trough and settling by the head, and +in this plight was swept away to leeward. + +Five vessels now remained, and of them the _Malahini_ was the only one +with an engine. Fearing either the _Nuhiva's_ or the _Winifdred's_ +fate, two of them followed the _Roberta's_ example, knocking out the +chain-shackles and running for the passage. The _Dolly_ was the first, +but her tarpaulin was carried away, and she went to destruction on the +lee-rim of the atoll near the _Misi_ and the _Cactus_. Undeterred by +this, the _Moana_ let go and followed with the same result. + +"Pretty good engine that, eh?" Captain Warfield yelled to his owner. + +Grief put out his hand and shook. "She's paying for herself!" he yelled +back. "The wind's shifting around to the southward, and we ought to lie +easier!" + +Slowly and steadily, but with ever-increasing velocity, the wind veered +around to the south and the southwest, till the three schooners that +were left pointed directly in toward the beach. The wreck of Parlay's +house was picked up, hurled into the lagoon, and blown out upon them. +Passing the _Malahini_, it crashed into the _Papara_, lying a quarter of +a mile astern. There was wild work for'ard on her, and in a quarter of +an hour the house went clear, but it had taken the _Papara's_ foremast +and bowsprit with it. + +Inshore, on their port bow, lay the _Tahaa_, slim and yacht-like, +but excessively oversparred. Her anchors still held, but her captain, +finding no abatement in the wind, proceeded to reduce windage by +chopping down his masts. + +"Pretty good engine that," Grief congratulated his skipper, "It will +save our sticks for us yet." + +Captain Warfield shook his head dubiously. + +The sea on the lagoon went swiftly down with the change of wind, but +they were beginning to feel the heave and lift of the outer sea breaking +across the atoll. There were not so many trees remaining. Some had been +broken short off, others uprooted. One tree they saw snap off halfway +up, three persons clinging to it, and whirl away by the wind into the +lagoon. Two detached themselves from it and swam to the Tahaa. Not +long after, just before darkness, they saw one jump overboard from that +schooner's stern and strike out strongly for the Malahini through the +white, spitting wavelets. + +"It's Tai-Hotauri," was Grief's judgment. "Now we'll have the news." + +The Kanaka caught the bobstay, climbed over the bow, and crawled aft. +Time was given him to breathe, and then, behind the part shelter of the +cabin, in broken snatches and largely by signs, he told his story. + +"Narii... damn robber... He want steal... pearls... Kill Parlay... One +man kill Parlay... No man know what man... Three Kanakas, Narii, me... +Five beans... hat... Narii say one bean black... Nobody know... Kill +Parlay... Narii damn liar... All beans black... Five black... Copra-shed +dark... Every man get black bean... Big wind come... No chance... +Everybody get up tree... No good luck them pearls... I tell you +before... No good luck." + +"Where's Parlay?" Grief shouted. + +"Up tree... Three of his Kanakas same tree. Narii and one Kanaka'nother +tree... My tree blow to hell, then I come on board." + +"Where's the pearls?" + +"Up tree along Parlay. Mebbe Narii get them pearl yet." + +In the ear of one after another Grief passed on Tai-Hotauri's story. +Captain Warfield was particularly incensed, and they could see him +grinding his teeth. + +Hermann went below and returned with a riding light, but the moment it +was lifted above the level of the cabin wall the wind blew it out. He +had better success with the binnacle lamp, which was lighted only after +many collective attempts. + +"A fine night of wind!" Grief yelled in Mulhall's ear. "And blowing +harder all the time." + +"How hard?" + +"A hundred miles an hour... two hundred... I don't know... Harder than +I've ever seen it." + +The lagoon grew more and more troubled by the sea that swept across +the atoll. Hundreds of leagues of ocean was being backed up by the +hurricane, which more than overcame the lowering effect of the ebb tide. +Immediately the tide began to rise the increase in the size of the seas +was noticeable. Moon and wind were heaping the South Pacific on Hikihoho +atoll. + +Captain Warfield returned from one of his periodical trips to the engine +room with the word that the engineer lay in a faint. + +"Can't let that engine stop!" he concluded helplessly. + +"All right!" Grief said, "Bring him on deck. I'll spell him." + +The hatch to the engine room was battened down, access being gained +through a narrow passage from the cabin. The heat and gas fumes were +stifling. Grief took one hasty, comprehensive examination of the engine +and the fittings of the tiny room, then blew out the oil-lamp. After +that he worked in darkness, save for the glow from endless cigars which +he went into the cabin to light. Even-tempered as he was, he soon began +to give evidences of the strain of being pent in with a mechanical +monster that toiled, and sobbed, and slubbered in the shouting dark. +Naked to the waist, covered with grease and oil, bruised and skinned +from being knocked about by the plunging, jumping vessel, his head +swimming from the mixture of gas and air he was compelled to breathe, +he laboured on hour after hour, in turns petting, blessing, nursing, and +cursing the engine and all its parts. The ignition began to go bad. The +feed grew worse. And worst of all, the cylinders began to heat. In +a consultation held in the cabin the half-caste engineer begged and +pleaded to stop the engine for half an hour in order to cool it and +to attend to the water circulation. Captain Warfield was against any +stopping. The half-caste swore that the engine would ruin itself and +stop anyway and for good. Grief, with glaring eyes, greasy and battered, +yelled and cursed them both down and issued commands. Mulhall, +the supercargo, and Hermann were set to work in the cabin at +double-straining and triple-straining the gasoline. A hole was chopped +through the engine room floor, and a Kanaka heaved bilge-water over the +cylinders, while Grief continued to souse running parts in oil. + +"Didn't know you were a gasoline expert," Captain Warfield admired when +Grief came into the cabin to catch a breath of little less impure air. + +"I bathe in gasoline," he grated savagely through his teeth. "I eat it." + +What other uses he might have found for it were never given, for at that +moment all the men in the cabin, as well as the gasoline being strained, +were smashed forward against the bulkhead as the _Malahini_ took an +abrupt, deep dive. For the space of several minutes, unable to gain +their feet, they rolled back and forth and pounded and hammered from +wall to wall. The schooner, swept by three big seas, creaked and groaned +and quivered, and from the weight of water on her decks behaved logily. +Grief crept to the engine, while Captain Warfield waited his chance to +get through the companion-way and out on deck. + +It was half an hour before he came back. + +"Whaleboat's gone!" he reported. "Galley's gone! Everything gone except +the deck and hatches! And if that engine hadn't been going we'd be gone! +Keep up the good work!" + +By midnight the engineer's lungs and head had been sufficiently cleared +of gas fumes to let him relieve Grief, who went on deck to get his own +head and lungs clear. He joined the others, who crouched behind +the cabin, holding on with their hands and made doubly secure by +rope-lashings. It was a complicated huddle, for it was the only place +of refuge for the Kanakas. Some of them had accepted the skipper's +invitation into the cabin but had been driven out by the fumes. The +_Malahini_ was being plunged down and swept frequently, and what they +breathed was air and spray and water commingled. + +"Making heavy weather of it, Mulhall!" Grief shouted to his guest +between immersions. + +Mulhall, strangling and choking, could only nod. The scuppers could not +carry off the burden of water on the schooner's deck. She rolled it out +and took it in over one rail and the other; and at times, nose thrown +skyward, sitting down on her heel, she avalanched it aft. It surged +along the poop gangways, poured over the top of the cabin, submerging +and bruising those that clung on, and went out over the stern-rail. + +Mulhall saw him first, and drew Grief's attention. It was Narii Herring, +crouching and holding on where the dim binnacle light shone upon him. He +was quite naked, save for a belt and a bare-bladed knife thrust between +it and the skin. + +Captain Warfield untied his lashings and made his way over the bodies of +the others. When his face became visible in the light from the binnacle +it was working with anger. They could see him speak, but the wind tore +the sound away. He would not put his lips to Narii's ear. Instead, he +pointed over the side. Narii Herring understood. His white teeth showed +in an amused and sneering smile, and he stood up, a magnificent figure +of a man. + +"It's murder!" Mulhall yelled to Grief. + +"He'd have murdered Old Parlay!" Grief yelled back. + +For the moment the poop was clear of water and the _Malahini_ on an even +keel. Narii made a bravado attempt to walk to the rail, but was flung +down by the wind. Thereafter he crawled, disappearing in the darkness, +though there was certitude in all of them that he had gone over the +side. The Malahini dived deep, and when they emerged from the flood that +swept aft, Grief got Mulhall's ear. + +"Can't lose him! He's the Fish Man of Tahiti! He'll cross the lagoon and +land on the other rim of the atoll if there's any atoll left!" + +Five minutes afterward, in another submergence, a mess of bodies poured +down on them over the top of the cabin. These they seized and held +till the water cleared, when they carried them below and learned their +identity. Old Parlay lay oh his back on the floor, with closed eyes and +without movement. The other two were his Kanaka cousins. All three were +naked and bloody. The arm of one Kanaka hung helpless and broken at his +side. The other man bled freely from a hideous scalp wound. + +"Narii did that?" Mulhall demanded. + +Grief shook his head. "No; it's from being smashed along the deck and +over the house!" + +Something suddenly ceased, leaving them in dizzying uncertainty. For +the moment it was hard to realize there was no wind. With the absolute +abruptness of a sword slash, the wind had been chopped off. The schooner +rolled and plunged, fetching up on her anchors with a crash which for +the first time they could hear. Also, for the first time they could hear +the water washing about on deck. The engineer threw off the propeller +and eased the engine down. + +"We're in the dead centre," Grief said. "Now for the shift. It will come +as hard as ever." He looked at the barometer. "29:32," he read. + +Not in a moment could he tone down the voice which for hours had battled +against the wind, and so loudly did he speak that in the quiet it hurt +the others' ears. + +"All his ribs are smashed," the supercargo said, feeling along Parlay's +side. "He's still breathing, but he's a goner." + +Old Parlay groaned, moved one arm impotently, and opened his eyes. In +them was the light of recognition. + +"My brave gentlemen," he whispered haltingly. "Don't forget... the +auction... at ten o'clock... in hell." + +His eyes dropped shut and the lower jaw threatened to drop, but he +mastered the qualms of dissolution long enough to omit one final, loud, +derisive cackle. + +Above and below pandemonium broke out. + +The old familiar roar of the wind was with them. The _Malahini_, caught +broadside, was pressed down almost on her beam ends as she swung the +arc compelled by her anchors. They rounded her into the wind, where she +jerked to an even keel. The propeller was thrown on, and the engine took +up its work again. + +"Northwest!" Captain Warfield shouted to Grief when he came on deck. +"Hauled eight points like a shot!" + +"Narii'll never get across the lagoon now!" Grief observed. + +"Then he'll blow back to our side, worse luck!" + + + + +V + +After the passing of the centre the barometer began to rise. Equally +rapid was the fall of the wind. When it was no more than a howling +gale, the engine lifted up in the air, parted its bed-plates with a last +convulsive effort of its forty horsepower, and lay down on its side. +A wash of water from the bilge sizzled over it and the steam arose in +clouds. The engineer wailed his dismay, but Grief glanced over the wreck +affectionately and went into the cabin to swab the grease off his chest +and arms with bunches of cotton waste. + +The sun was up and the gentlest of summer breezes blowing when he came +on deck, after sewing up the scalp of one Kanaka and setting the other's +arm. The _Malahini_ lay close in to the beach. For'ard, Hermann and the +crew were heaving in and straightening out the tangle of anchors. The +_Papara_ and the _Tahaa_ were gone, and Captain Warfield, through the +glasses, was searching the opposite rim of the atoll. + +"Not a stick left of them," he said. "That's what comes of not having +engines. They must have dragged across before the big shift came." + +Ashore, where Parlay's house had been, was no vestige of any house. For +the space of three hundred yards, where the sea had breached, no tree or +even stump was left. Here and there, farther along, stood an occasional +palm, and there were numbers which had been snapped off above the +ground. In the crown of one surviving palm Tai-Hotauri asserted he saw +something move. There were no boats left to the _Malahini_, and they +watched him swim ashore and climb the tree. + +When he came back, they helped over the rail a young native girl of +Parley's household. But first she passed up to them a battered basket. +In it was a litter of blind kittens--all dead save one, that feebly +mewed and staggered on awkward legs. + +"Hello!" said Mulhall. "Who's that?" + +Along the beach they saw a man walking. He moved casually, as if out +for a morning stroll. Captain Warfield gritted his teeth. It was Narii +Herring. + +"Hello, skipper!" Narii called, when he was abreast of them. "Can I come +aboard and get some breakfast?" + +Captain Warfield's face and neck began to swell and turn purple. He +tried to speak, but choked. + +"For two cents--for two cents----" was all he could manage to +articulate. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son Of The Sun, by Jack London + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + +***** This file should be named 21971-8.txt or 21971-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/9/7/21971/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/21971-8.zip b/21971-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e8b080 --- /dev/null +++ b/21971-8.zip diff --git a/21971-h.zip b/21971-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e45ed46 --- /dev/null +++ b/21971-h.zip diff --git a/21971-h/21971-h.htm b/21971-h/21971-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e08d1b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/21971-h/21971-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9190 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + A Son of the Sun, by Jack London + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body {text-align:justify} + P { margin:10%; + text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + hr { width: 50%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; } + .foot { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 95%; } + img {border: 0;} + HR { width: 33%; text-align: center; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; } + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 1%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: left; + color: gray; + } /* page numbers */ + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 1%;} + .toc { margin-left: 15%; margin-bottom: 0em;} + CENTER { padding: 10px;} + PRE { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 20%;} + // +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son Of The Sun, by Jack London + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Son Of The Sun + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: June 29, 2007 [EBook #21971] +Last Updated: March 3, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + A SON OF THE SUN + </h1> + <h2> + BY JACK LONDON <br /> <br /> <br /> 1912 + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <img alt="frontispiece (55K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" + height="819" width="623" /> <br /> <br /> <img alt="titlepage (41K)" + src="images/titlepage.jpg" height="927" width="606" /> <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0001"> Chapter One—A SON OF THE SUN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0003"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0004"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0005"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0006"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0007"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0008"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0002"> Chapter Two—THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS + PANKBURN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0010"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0011"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0012"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0013"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0014"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0015"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0016"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0003"> Chapter Three—THE DEVILS OF FUATINO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0018"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0019"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0020"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0021"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0022"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0023"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0024"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0025"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0026"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0004"> Chapter Four—THE JOKERS OF NEW GIBBON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0028"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0029"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0030"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0031"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0005"> Chapter Five—A LITTLE ACCOUNT WITH SWITHIN + HALL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0033"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0034"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0035"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0036"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0037"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0038"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0039"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0040"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0006"> Chapter Six—A GOBOTO NIGHT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0042"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0043"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0007"> Chapter Seven—THE FEATHERS OF THE SUN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0045"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0046"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0047"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0048"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0049"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0050"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0051"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0052"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0008"> Chapter Eight—THE PEARLS OF PARLAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0054"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0055"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0056"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0057"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0058"> V </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter One—A SON OF THE SUN + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + The <i>Willi-Waw</i> lay in the passage between the shore-reef and the + outer-reef. From the latter came the low murmur of a lazy surf, but the + sheltered stretch of water, not more than a hundred yards across to the + white beach of pounded coral sand, was of glass-like smoothness. Narrow as + was the passage, and anchored as she was in the shoalest place that gave + room to swing, the <i>Willi-Waw's</i> chain rode up-and-down a clean + hundred feet. Its course could be traced over the bottom of living coral. + Like some monstrous snake, the rusty chain's slack wandered over the ocean + floor, crossing and recrossing itself several times and fetching up + finally at the idle anchor. Big rock-cod, dun and mottled, played warily + in and out of the coral. Other fish, grotesque of form and colour, were + brazenly indifferent, even when a big fish-shark drifted sluggishly along + and sent the rock-cod scuttling for their favourite crevices. + </p> + <p> + On deck, for'ard, a dozen blacks pottered clumsily at scraping the teak + rail. They were as inexpert at their work as so many monkeys. In fact they + looked very much like monkeys of some enlarged and prehistoric type. Their + eyes had in them the querulous plaintiveness of the monkey, their faces + were even less symmetrical than the monkey's, and, hairless of body, they + were far more ungarmented than any monkey, for clothes they had none. + Decorated they were as no monkey ever was. In holes in their ears they + carried short clay pipes, rings of turtle shell, huge plugs of wood, rusty + wire nails, and empty rifle cartridges. The calibre of a Winchester rifle + was the smallest hole an ear bore; some of the largest holes were inches + in diameter, and any single ear averaged from three to half a dozen holes. + Spikes and bodkins of polished bone or petrified shell were thrust through + their noses. On the chest of one hung a white doorknob, on the chest of + another the handle of a china cup, on the chest of a third the brass + cogwheel of an alarm clock. They chattered in queer, falsetto voices, and, + combined, did no more work than a single white sailor. + </p> + <p> + Aft, under an awning, were two white men. Each was clad in a six-penny + undershirt and wrapped about the loins with a strip of cloth. Belted about + the middle of each was a revolver and tobacco pouch. The sweat stood out + on their skin in myriads of globules. Here and there the globules + coalesced in tiny streams that dripped to the heated deck and almost + immediately evaporated. The lean, dark-eyed man wiped his fingers wet with + a stinging stream from his forehead and flung it from him with a weary + curse. Wearily, and without hope, he gazed seaward across the outer-reef, + and at the tops of the palms along the beach. + </p> + <p> + “Eight o'clock, an' hell don't get hot till noon,” he complained. “Wisht + to God for a breeze. Ain't we never goin' to get away?” + </p> + <p> + The other man, a slender German of five and twenty, with the massive + forehead of a scholar and the tumble-home chin of a degenerate, did not + trouble to reply. He was busy emptying powdered quinine into a cigarette + paper. Rolling what was approximately fifty grains of the drug into a + tight wad, he tossed it into his mouth and gulped it down without the aid + of water. + </p> + <p> + “Wisht I had some whiskey,” the first man panted, after a fifteen-minute + interval of silence. + </p> + <p> + Another equal period elapsed ere the German enounced, relevant of nothing: + </p> + <p> + “I'm rotten with fever. I'm going to quit you, Griffiths, when we get to + Sydney. No more tropics for me. I ought to known better when I signed on + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “You ain't been much of a mate,” Griffiths replied, too hot himself to + speak heatedly. “When the beach at Guvutu heard I'd shipped you, they all + laughed. 'What? Jacobsen?' they said. 'You can't hide a square face of + trade gin or sulphuric acid that he won't smell out!' You've certainly + lived up to your reputation. I ain't had a drink for a fortnight, what of + your snoopin' my supply.” + </p> + <p> + “If the fever was as rotten in you as me, you'd understand,” the mate + whimpered. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't kickin',” Griffiths answered. “I only wisht God'd send me a + drink, or a breeze of wind, or something. I'm ripe for my next chill + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The mate proffered him the quinine. Rolling a fifty-grain dose, he popped + the wad into his mouth and swallowed it dry. + </p> + <p> + “God! God!” he moaned. “I dream of a land somewheres where they ain't no + quinine. Damned stuff of hell! I've scoffed tons of it in my time.” + </p> + <p> + Again he quested seaward for signs of wind. The usual trade-wind clouds + were absent, and the sun, still low in its climb to meridian, turned all + the sky to heated brass. One seemed to see as well as feel this heat, and + Griffiths sought vain relief by gazing shoreward. The white beach was a + searing ache to his eyeballs. The palm trees, absolutely still, outlined + flatly against the unrefreshing green of the packed jungle, seemed so much + cardboard scenery. The little black boys, playing naked in the dazzle of + sand and sun, were an affront and a hurt to the sun-sick man. He felt a + sort of relief when one, running, tripped and fell on all-fours in the + tepid sea-water. + </p> + <p> + An exclamation from the blacks for'ard sent both men glancing seaward. + Around the near point of land, a quarter of a mile away and skirting the + reef, a long black canoe paddled into sight. + </p> + <p> + “Gooma boys from the next bight,” was the mate's verdict. + </p> + <p> + One of the blacks came aft, treading the hot deck with the unconcern of + one whose bare feet felt no heat. This, too, was a hurt to Griffiths, and + he closed his eyes. But the next moment they were open wide. + </p> + <p> + “White fella marster stop along Gooma boy,” the black said. + </p> + <p> + Both men were on their feet and gazing at the canoe. Aft could be seen the + unmistakable sombrero of a white man. Quick alarm showed itself on the + face of the mate. + </p> + <p> + “It's Grief,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Griffiths satisfied himself by a long look, then ripped out a wrathful + oath. + </p> + <p> + “What's he doing up here?” he demanded of the mate, of the aching sea and + sky, of the merciless blaze of sun, and of the whole superheated and + implacable universe with which his fate was entangled. + </p> + <p> + The mate began to chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “I told you you couldn't get away with it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + But Griffiths was not listening. + </p> + <p> + “With all his money, coming around like a rent collector,” he chanted his + outrage, almost in an ecstasy of anger. “He's loaded with money, he's + stuffed with money, he's busting with money. I know for a fact he sold his + Yringa plantations for three hundred thousand pounds. Bell told me so + himself last time we were drunk at Guvutu. Worth millions and millions, + and Shylocking me for what he wouldn't light his pipe with.” He whirled on + the mate. “Of course you told me so. Go on and say it, and keep on saying + it. Now just what was it you did tell me so?” + </p> + <p> + “I told you you didn't know him, if you thought you could clear the + Solomons without paying him. That man Grief is a devil, but he's straight. + I know. I told you he'd throw a thousand quid away for the fun of it, and + for sixpence fight like a shark for a rusty tin, I tell you I know. Didn't + he give his <i>Balakula</i> to the Queensland Mission when they lost their + <i>Evening Star</i> on San Cristobal?—and the <i>Balakula</i> worth + three thousand pounds if she was worth a penny? And didn't he beat up + Strothers till he lay abed a fortnight, all because of a difference of two + pound ten in the account, and because Strothers got fresh and tried to + make the gouge go through?” + </p> + <p> + “God strike me blind!” Griffiths cried in im-potency of rage. + </p> + <p> + The mate went on with his exposition. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you only a straight man can buck a straight man like him, and the + man's never hit the Solomons that could do it. Men like you and me can't + buck him. We're too rotten, too rotten all the way through. You've got + plenty more than twelve hundred quid below. Pay him, and get it over + with.” + </p> + <p> + But Griffiths gritted his teeth and drew his thin lips tightly across + them. + </p> + <p> + “I'll buck him,” he muttered—more to himself and the brazen ball of + sun than to the mate. He turned and half started to go below, then turned + back again. “Look here, Jacob-sen. He won't be here for quarter of an + hour. Are you with me? Will you stand by me?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'll stand by you. I've drunk all your whiskey, haven't I? What + are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to kill him if I can help it. But I'm not going to pay. + Take that flat.” + </p> + <p> + Jacobsen shrugged his shoulders in calm acquiescence to fate, and + Griffiths stepped to the companionway and went below. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Jacobsen watched the canoe across the low reef as it came abreast and + passed on to the entrance of the passage. Griffiths, with ink-marks on + right thumb and forefinger, returned on deck Fifteen minutes later the + canoe came alongside. The man with the sombrero stood up. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Griffiths!” he said. “Hello, Jacobsen!” With his hand on the rail + he turned to his dusky crew. “You fella boy stop along canoe altogether.” + </p> + <p> + As he swung over the rail and stepped on deck a hint of catlike litheness + showed in the apparently heavy body. Like the other two, he was scantily + clad. The cheap undershirt and white loin-cloth did not serve to hide the + well put up body. Heavy muscled he was, but he was not lumped and + hummocked by muscles. They were softly rounded, and, when they did move, + slid softly and silkily under the smooth, tanned skin. Ardent suns had + likewise tanned his face till it was swarthy as a Spaniard's. The yellow + mustache appeared incongruous in the midst of such swarthiness, while the + clear blue of the eyes produced a feeling of shock on the beholder. It was + difficult to realize that the skin of this man had once been fair. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you blow in from?” Griffiths asked, as they shook hands. “I + thought you were over in the Santa Cruz.” + </p> + <p> + “I was,” the newcomer answered. “But we made a quick passage. The <i>Wonder's</i> + just around in the bight at Gooma, waiting for wind. Some of the bushmen + reported a ketch here, and I just dropped around to see. Well, how goes + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much. Copra sheds mostly empty, and not half a dozen tons of + ivory nuts. The women all got rotten with fever and quit, and the men + can't chase them back into the swamps. They're a sick crowd. I'd ask you + to have a drink, but the mate finished off my last bottle. I wisht to God + for a breeze of wind.” + </p> + <p> + Grief, glancing with keen carelessness from one to the other, laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad the calm held,” he said. “It enabled me to get around to see + you. My supercargo dug up that little note of yours, and I brought it + along.” + </p> + <p> + The mate edged politely away, leaving his skipper to face his trouble. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Grief, damned sorry,” Griffiths said, “but I ain't got it. + You'll have to give me a little more time.” + </p> + <p> + Grief leaned up against the companionway, surprise and pain depicted on + his face. + </p> + <p> + “It does beat hell,” he communed, “how men learn to lie in the Solomons. + The truth's not in them. Now take Captain Jensen. I'd sworn by his + truthfulness. Why, he told me only five days ago—do you want to know + what he told me?” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths licked his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he told me that you'd sold out—sold out everything, cleaned + up, and was pulling out for the New Hebrides.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a damned liar!” Griffiths cried hotly. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I should say so. He even had the nerve to tell me that he'd bought two of + your stations from you—Mauri and Kahula. Said he paid you seventeen + hundred gold sovereigns, lock, stock and barrel, good will, trade-goods, + credit, and copra.” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths's eyes narrowed and glinted. The action was involuntary, and + Grief noted it with a lazy sweep of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And Parsons, your trader at Hickimavi, told me that the Fulcrum Company + had bought that station from you. Now what did he want to lie for?” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths, overwrought by sun and sickness, exploded. All his bitterness + of spirit rose up in his face and twisted his mouth into a snarl. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Grief, what's the good of playing with me that way? You know, + and I know you know. Let it go at that. I <i>have</i> sold out, and I <i>am</i> + getting away. And what are you going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + Grief shrugged his shoulders, and no hint of resolve shadowed itself in + his own face. His expression was as of one in a quandary. + </p> + <p> + “There's no law here,” Griffiths pressed home his advantage. “Tulagi is a + hundred and fifty miles away. I've got my clearance papers, and I'm on my + own boat. There's nothing to stop me from sailing. You've got no right to + stop me just because I owe you a little money. And by God! you can't stop + me. Put that in your pipe.” + </p> + <p> + The look of pained surprise on Grief's face deepened. + </p> + <p> + “You mean you're going to cheat me out of that twelve hundred, Griffiths?” + </p> + <p> + “That's just about the size of it, old man. And calling hard names won't + help any. There's the wind coming. You'd better get overside before I pull + out, or I'll tow your canoe under.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Griffiths, you sound almost right. I can't stop you.” Grief + fumbled in the pouch that hung on his revolver-belt and pulled out a + crumpled official-looking paper. “But maybe this will stop you. And it's + something for <i>your</i> pipe. Smoke up.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “An admiralty warrant. Running to the New Hebrides won't save you. It can + be served anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths hesitated and swallowed, when he had finished glancing at the + document. With knit brows he pondered this new phase of the situation. + Then, abruptly, as he looked up, his face relaxed into all frankness. + </p> + <p> + “You were cleverer than I thought, old man,” he said. “You've got me hip + and thigh. I ought to have known better than to try and beat you. Jacobsen + told me I couldn't, and I wouldn't listen to him. But he was right, and so + are you. I've got the money below. Come on down and we'll settle.” + </p> + <p> + He started to go down, then stepped aside to let his visitor precede him, + at the same time glancing seaward to where the dark flaw of wind was + quickening the water. + </p> + <p> + “Heave short,” he told the mate. “Get up sail and stand ready to break + out.” + </p> + <p> + As Grief sat down on the edge of the mate's bunk, close against and facing + the tiny table, he noticed the butt of a revolver just projecting from + under the pillow. On the table, which hung on hinges from the for'ard + bulkhead, were pen and ink, also a battered log-book. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mind being caught in a dirty trick,” Griffiths was saying + defiantly. “I've been in the tropics too long. I'm a sick man, a damn sick + man. And the whiskey, and the sun, and the fever have made me sick in + morals, too. Nothing's too mean and low for me now, and I can understand + why the niggers eat each other, and take heads, and such things. I could + do it myself. So I call trying to do you out of that small account a + pretty mild trick. Wisht I could offer you a drink.” + </p> + <p> + Grief made no reply, and the other busied himself in attempting to unlock + a large and much-dented cash-box. From on deck came falsetto cries and the + creak and rattle of blocks as the black crew swung up mainsail and driver. + Grief watched a large cockroach crawling over the greasy paintwork. + Griffiths, with an oath of irritation, carried the cash-box to the + companion-steps for better light. Here, on his feet, and bending over the + box, his back to his visitor, his hands shot out to the rifle that stood + beside the steps, and at the same moment he whirled about. + </p> + <p> + “Now don't you move a muscle,” he commanded. + </p> + <p> + Grief smiled, elevated his eyebrows quizzically, and obeyed. His left hand + rested on the bunk beside him; his right hand lay on the table. + </p> + <p> + His revolver hung on his right hip in plain sight. But in his mind was + recollection of the other revolver under the pillow. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” Griffiths sneered. “You've got everybody in the Solomons + hypnotized, but let me tell you you ain't got me. Now I'm going to throw + you off my vessel, along with your admiralty warrant, but first you've got + to do something. Lift up that log-book.” + </p> + <p> + The other glanced curiously at the log-book, but did not move. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I'm a sick man, Grief; and I'd as soon shoot you as smash a + cockroach. Lift up that log-book, I say.” + </p> + <p> + Sick he did look, his lean face working nervously with the rage that + possessed him. Grief lifted the book and set it aside. Beneath lay a + written sheet of tablet paper. + </p> + <p> + “Read it,” Griffiths commanded. “Read it aloud.” + </p> + <p> + Grief obeyed; but while he read, the fingers of his left hand began an + infinitely slow and patient crawl toward the butt of the weapon under the + pillow. + </p> + <p> + “On board the ketch Willi-Waw, Bombi Bight, Island of Anna, Solomon + Islands,” he read. “Know all men by these presents that I do hereby sign + off and release in full, for due value received, all debts whatsoever + owing to me by Harrison J. Griffiths, who has this day paid to me twelve + hundred pounds sterling.” + </p> + <p> + “With that receipt in my hands,” Griffiths grinned, “your admiralty + warrant's not worth the paper it's written on. Sign it.” + </p> + <p> + “It won't do any good, Griffiths,” Grief said. “A document signed under + compulsion won't hold before the law.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, what objection have you to signing it then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, none at all, only that I might save you heaps of trouble by not + signing it.” + </p> + <p> + Grief's fingers had gained the revolver, and, while he talked, with his + right hand he played with the pen and with his left began slowly and + imperceptibly drawing the weapon to his side. As his hand finally closed + upon it, second finger on trigger and forefinger laid past the cylinder + and along the barrel, he wondered what luck he would have at left-handed + snap-shooting. + </p> + <p> + “Don't consider me,” Griffiths gibed. “And just remember Jacobsen will + testify that he saw me pay the money over. Now sign, sign in full, at the + bottom, David Grief, and date it.” + </p> + <p> + From on deck came the jar of sheet-blocks and the rat-tat-tat of the + reef-points against the canvas. In the cabin they could feel the <i>Willi-Waw</i> + heel, swing into the wind, and right. David Grief still hesitated. From + for'ard came the jerking rattle of headsail halyards through the sheaves. + The little vessel heeled, and through the cabin walls came the gurgle and + wash of water. + </p> + <p> + “Get a move on!” Griffiths cried. “The anchor's out.” + </p> + <p> + The muzzle of the rifle, four feet away, was bearing directly on him, when + Grief resolved to act. The rifle wavered as Griffiths kept his balance in + the uncertain puffs of the first of the wind. Grief took advantage of the + wavering, made as if to sign the paper, and at the same instant, like a + cat, exploded into swift and intricate action. As he ducked low and leaped + forward with his body, his left hand flashed from under the screen of the + table, and so accurately-timed was the single stiff pull on the + self-cocking trigger that the cartridge discharged as the muzzle came + forward. Not a whit behind was Griffiths. The muzzle of his weapon dropped + to meet the ducking body, and, shot at snap direction, rifle and revolver + went off simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + Grief felt the sting and sear of a bullet across the skin of his shoulder, + and knew that his own shot had missed. His forward rush carried him to + Griffiths before another shot could be fired, both of whose arms, still + holding the rifle, he locked with a low tackle about the body. He shoved + the revolver muzzle, still in his left hand, deep into the other's + abdomen. Under the press of his anger and the sting of his abraded skin, + Grief's finger was lifting the hammer, when the wave of anger passed and + he recollected himself. Down the companion-way came indignant cries from + the Gooma boys in his canoe. + </p> + <p> + Everything was happening in seconds. There was apparently no pause in his + actions as he gathered Griffiths in his arms and carried him up the steep + steps in a sweeping rush. Out into the blinding glare of sunshine he came. + A black stood grinning at the wheel, and the <i>Willi-Waw</i>, heeled over + from the wind, was foaming along. Rapidly dropping astern was his Gooma + canoe. Grief turned his head. From amidships, revolver in hand, the mate + was springing toward him. With two jumps, still holding the helpless + Griffiths, Grief leaped to the rail and overboard. + </p> + <p> + Both men were grappled together as they went down; but Grief, with a quick + updraw of his knees to the other's chest, broke the grip and forced him + down. With both feet on Griffiths's shoulder, he forced him still deeper, + at the same time driving himself to the surface. Scarcely had his head + broken into the sunshine when two splashes of water, in quick succession + and within a foot of his face, advertised that Jacobsen knew how to handle + a revolver. There was a chance for no third shot, for Grief, filling his + lungs with air, sank down. Under water he struck out, nor did he come up + till he saw the canoe and the bubbling paddles overhead. As he climbed + aboard, the <i>Wlli-Waw</i> went into the wind to come about. + </p> + <p> + “Washee-washee!” Grief cried to his boys. “You fella make-um beach quick + fella time!” + </p> + <p> + In all shamelessness, he turned his back on the battle and ran for cover. + The <i>Willi-Waw</i>, compelled to deaden way in order to pick up its + captain, gave Grief his chance for a lead. The canoe struck the beach + full-tilt, with every paddle driving, and they leaped out and ran across + the sand for the trees. But before they gained the shelter, three times + the sand kicked into puffs ahead of them. Then they dove into the green + safety of the jungle. + </p> + <p> + Grief watched the <i>Willi-Waw</i> haul up close, go out the passage, then + slack its sheets as it headed south with the wind abeam. As it went out of + sight past the point he could see the topsail being broken out. One of the + Gooma boys, a black, nearly fifty years of age, hideously marred and + scarred by skin diseases and old wounds, looked up into his face and + grinned. + </p> + <p> + “My word,” the boy commented, “that fella skipper too much cross along + you.” + </p> + <p> + Grief laughed, and led the way back across the sand to the canoe. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + How many millions David Grief was worth no man in the Solomons knew, for + his holdings and ventures were everywhere in the great South Pacific. From + Samoa to New Guinea and even to the north of the Line his plantations were + scattered. He possessed pearling concessions in the Paumotus. Though his + name did not appear, he was in truth the German company that traded in the + French Marquesas. His trading stations were in strings in all the groups, + and his vessels that operated them were many. He owned atolls so remote + and tiny that his smallest schooners and ketches visited the solitary + agents but once a year. + </p> + <p> + In Sydney, on Castlereagh Street, his offices occupied three floors. But + he was rarely in those offices. He preferred always to be on the go + amongst the islands, nosing out new investments, inspecting and shaking up + old ones, and rubbing shoulders with fun and adventure in a thousand + strange guises. He bought the wreck of the great steamship <i>Gavonne</i> + for a song, and in salving it achieved the impossible and cleaned up a + quarter of a million. In the Louisiades he planted the first commercial + rubber, and in Bora-Bora he ripped out the South Sea cotton and put the + jolly islanders at the work of planting cacao. It was he who took the + deserted island of Lallu-Ka, colonized it with Polynesians from the + Ontong-Java Atoll, and planted four thousand acres to cocoanuts. And it + was he who reconciled the warring chief-stocks of Tahiti and swung the + great deal of the phosphate island of Hikihu. + </p> + <p> + His own vessels recruited his contract labour. They brought Santa Cruz + boys to the New Hebrides, New Hebrides boys to the Banks, and the + head-hunting cannibals of Malaita to the plantations of New Georgia. From + Tonga to the Gilberts and on to the far Louisiades his recruiters combed + the islands for labour. His keels plowed all ocean stretches. He owned + three steamers on regular island runs, though he rarely elected to travel + in them, preferring the wilder and more primitive way of wind and sail. + </p> + <p> + At least forty years of age, he looked no more than thirty. Yet + beachcombers remembered his advent among the islands a score of years + before, at which time the yellow mustache was already budding silkily on + his lip. Unlike other white men in the tropics, he was there because he + liked it. His protective skin pigmentation was excellent. He had been born + to the sun. One he was in ten thousand in the matter of sun-resistance. + The invisible and high-velocity light waves failed to bore into him. Other + white men were pervious. The sun drove through their skins, ripping and + smashing tissues and nerves, till they became sick in mind and body, + tossed most of the Decalogue overboard, descended to beastliness, drank + themselves into quick graves, or survived so savagely that war vessels + were sometimes sent to curb their license. + </p> + <p> + But David Grief was a true son of the sun, and he flourished in all its + ways. He merely became browner with the passing of the years, though in + the brown was the hint of golden tint that glows in the skin of the + Polynesian. Yet his blue eyes retained their blue, his mustache its + yellow, and the lines of his face were those which had persisted through + the centuries in his English race. English he was in blood, yet those that + thought they knew contended he was at least American born. Unlike them, he + had not come out to the South Seas seeking hearth and saddle of his own. + In fact, he had brought hearth and saddle with him. His advent had been in + the Paumotus. He arrived on board a tiny schooner yacht, master and owner, + a youth questing romance and adventure along the sun-washed path of the + tropics. He also arrived in a hurricane, the giant waves of which + deposited him and yacht and all in the thick of a cocoanut grove three + hundred yards beyond the surf. Six months later he was rescued by a + pearling cutter. But the sun had got into his blood. At Tahiti, instead of + taking a steamer home, he bought a schooner, outfitted her with + trade-goods and divers, and went for a cruise through the Dangerous + Archipelago. + </p> + <p> + As the golden tint burned into his face it poured molten out of the ends + of his fingers. His was the golden touch, but he played the game, not for + the gold, but for the game's sake. It was a man's game, the rough contacts + and fierce give and take of the adventurers of his own blood and of half + the bloods of Europe and the rest of the world, and it was a good game; + but over and beyond was his love of all the other things that go to make + up a South Seas rover's life—the smell of the reef; the infinite + exquisiteness of the shoals of living coral in the mirror-surfaced + lagoons; the crashing sunrises of raw colours spread with lawless cunning; + the palm-tufted islets set in turquoise deeps; the tonic wine of the + trade-winds; the heave and send of the orderly, crested seas; the moving + deck beneath his feet, the straining canvas overhead; the + flower-garlanded, golden-glowing men and maids of Polynesia, half-children + and half-gods; and even the howling savages of Melanesia, head-hunters and + man-eaters, half-devil and all beast. + </p> + <p> + And so, favoured child of the sun, out of munificence of energy and sheer + joy of living, he, the man of many millions, forbore on his far way to + play the game with Harrison J. Griffiths for a paltry sum. It was his + whim, his desire, his expression of self and of the sun-warmth that poured + through him. It was fun, a joke, a problem, a bit of play on which life + was lightly hazarded for the joy of the playing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + The early morning found the <i>Wonder</i> laying close-hauled along the + coast of Guadalcanal She moved lazily through the water under the dying + breath of the land breeze. To the east, heavy masses of clouds promised a + renewal of the southeast trades, accompanied by sharp puffs and rain + squalls. Ahead, laying along the coast on the same course as the <i>Wonder</i>, + and being slowly overtaken, was a small ketch. It was not the <i>Willi-Waw</i>, + however, and Captain Ward, on the <i>Wonder</i>, putting down his glasses, + named it the <i>Kauri</i>. + </p> + <p> + Grief, just on deck from below, sighed regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “If it had only been the <i>Willi-Waw</i>” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You do hate to be beaten,” Denby, the supercargo, remarked + sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly do.” Grief paused and laughed with genuine mirth. “It's my + firm conviction that Griffiths is a rogue, and that he treated me quite + scurvily yesterday. 'Sign,' he says, 'sign in full, at the bottom, and + date it,' And Jacobsen, the little rat, stood in with him. It was rank + piracy, the days of Bully Hayes all over again.” + </p> + <p> + “If you weren't my employer, Mr. Grief, I'd like to give you a piece of my + mind,” Captain Ward broke in. + </p> + <p> + “Go on and spit it out,” Grief encouraged. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—” The captain hesitated and cleared his throat. “With + all the money you've got, only a fool would take the risk you did with + those two curs. What do you do it for?” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly, I don't know, Captain. I just want to, I suppose. And can you + give any better reason for anything you do?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get your bally head shot off some fine day,” Captain Ward growled + in answer, as he stepped to the binnacle and took the bearing of a peak + which had just thrust its head through the clouds that covered + Guadalcanar. + </p> + <p> + The land breeze strengthened in a last effort, and the <i>Wonder</i>, + slipping swiftly through the water, ranged alongside the <i>Kauri</i> and + began to go by. Greetings flew back and forth, then David Grief called + out: + </p> + <p> + “Seen anything of the <i>Willi-Waw</i>?” + </p> + <p> + The captain, slouch-hatted and barelegged, with a rolling twist hitched + the faded blue <i>lava-lava</i> tighter around his waist and spat tobacco + juice overside. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” he answered. “Griffiths lay at Savo last night, taking on pigs and + yams and filling his water-tanks. Looked like he was going for a long + cruise, but he said no. Why? Did you want to see him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but if you see him first don't tell him you've seen me.” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded and considered, and walked for'ard on his own deck to + keep abreast of the faster vessel. + </p> + <p> + “Say!” he called. “Jacobsen told me they were coming down this afternoon + to Gabera. Said they were going to lay there to-night and take on sweet + potatoes.” + </p> + <p> + “Gabera has the only leading lights in the Solomons,” Grief said, when his + schooner had drawn well ahead. “Is that right, Captain Ward?” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And the little bight just around the point on this side, it's a rotten + anchorage, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “No anchorage. All coral patches and shoals, and a bad surf. That's where + the <i>Molly</i> went to pieces three years ago.” + </p> + <p> + Grief stared straight before him with lustreless eyes for a full minute, + as if summoning some vision to his inner sight. Then the corners of his + eyes wrinkled and the ends of his yellow mustache lifted in a smile. + </p> + <p> + “We'll anchor at Gabera,” he said. “And run in close to the little bight + this side. I want you to drop me in a whaleboat as you go by. Also, give + me six boys, and serve out rifles. I'll be back on board before morning.” + </p> + <p> + The captain's face took on an expression of suspicion, which swiftly slid + into one of reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just a little fun, skipper,” Grief protested with the apologetic air + of a schoolboy caught in mischief by an elder. + </p> + <p> + Captain Ward grunted, but Denby was all alertness. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to go along, Mr. Grief,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded consent. + </p> + <p> + “Bring some axes and bush-knives,” he said. “And, oh, by the way, a couple + of bright lanterns. See they've got oil in them.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + An hour before sunset the <i>Wonder</i> tore by the little bight. The wind + had freshened, and a lively sea was beginning to make. The shoals toward + the beach were already white with the churn of water, while those farther + out as yet showed no more sign than of discoloured water. As the schooner + went into the wind and backed her jib and staysail the whaleboat was swung + out. Into it leaped six breech-clouted Santa Cruz boys, each armed with a + rifle. Denby, carrying the lanterns, dropped into the stern-sheets. Grief, + following, paused on the rail. + </p> + <p> + “Pray for a dark night, skipper,” he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “You'll get it,” Captain Ward answered. “There's no moon anyway, and there + won't be any sky. She'll be a bit squally, too.” + </p> + <p> + The forecast sent a radiance into Grief's face, making more pronounced the + golden tint of his sunburn. He leaped down beside the supercargo. + </p> + <p> + “Cast off!” Captain Ward ordered. “Draw the headsails! Put your wheel + over! There! Steady! Take that course!” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Wonder</i> filled away and ran on around the point for Gabera, + while the whaleboat, pulling six oars and steered by Grief, headed for the + beach. With superb boatmanship he threaded the narrow, tortuous channel + which no craft larger than a whaleboat could negotiate, until the shoals + and patches showed seaward and they grounded on the quiet, rippling beach. + </p> + <p> + The next hour was filled with work. Moving about among the wild cocoanuts + and jungle brush, Grief selected the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Chop this fella tree; chop that fella tree,” he told his blacks. “No chop + that other fella,” he said, with a shake of head. + </p> + <p> + In the end, a wedge-shaped segment of jungle was cleared. Near to the + beach remained one long palm. At the apex of the wedge stood another. + Darkness was falling as the lanterns were lighted, carried up the two + trees, and made fast. + </p> + <p> + “That outer lantern is too high.” David Grief studied it critically. “Put + it down about ten feet, Denby.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The <i>Willi-Waw</i> was tearing through the water with a bone in her + teeth, for the breath of the passing squall was still strong. The blacks + were swinging up the big mainsail, which had been lowered on the run when + the puff was at its height. Jacobsen, superintending the operation, + ordered them to throw the halyards down on deck and stand by, then went + for'ard on the lee-bow and joined Griffiths. Both men stared with + wide-strained eyes at the blank wall of darkness through which they were + flying, their ears tense for the sound of surf on the invisible shore. It + was by this sound that they were for the moment steering. + </p> + <p> + The wind fell lighter, the scud of clouds thinned and broke, and in the + dim glimmer of starlight loomed the jungle-clad coast. Ahead, and well on + the lee-bow, appeared a jagged rock-point. Both men strained to it. + </p> + <p> + “Amboy Point,” Griffiths announced. “Plenty of water close up. Take the + wheel, Jacobsen, till we set a course. Get a move on!” + </p> + <p> + Running aft, barefooted and barelegged, the rainwater dripping from his + scant clothing, the mate displaced the black at the wheel. + </p> + <p> + “How's she heading?” Griffiths called. + </p> + <p> + “South-a-half-west!” + </p> + <p> + “Let her come up south-by-west! Got it?” + </p> + <p> + “Right on it!” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths considered the changed relation of Amboy Point to the <i>Willi-Waw</i>'s + course. + </p> + <p> + “And a-half-west!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “And a-half-west!” came the answer. “Right on it!” + </p> + <p> + “Steady! That'll do!” + </p> + <p> + “Steady she is!” Jacobsen turned the wheel over to the savage. “You steer + good fella, savve?” he warned. “No good fella, I knock your damn black + head off.” + </p> + <p> + Again he went for'ard and joined the other, and again the cloud-scud + thickened, the star-glimmer vanished, and the wind rose and screamed in + another squall. + </p> + <p> + “Watch that mainsail!” Griffiths yelled in the mate's ear, at the same + time studying the ketch's behaviour. + </p> + <p> + Over she pressed, and lee-rail under, while he measured the weight of the + wind and quested its easement. The tepid sea-water, with here and there + tiny globules of phosphorescence, washed about his ankles and knees. The + wind screamed a higher note, and every shroud and stay sharply chorused an + answer as the <i>Willi-Waw</i> pressed farther over and down. + </p> + <p> + “Down mainsail!” Griffiths yelled, springing to the peak-halyards, + thrusting away the black who held on, and casting off the turn. + </p> + <p> + Jacobsen, at the throat-halyards, was performing the like office. The big + sail rattled down, and the blacks, with shouts and yells, threw themselves + on the battling canvas. The mate, finding one skulking in the darkness, + flung his bunched knuckles into the creature's face and drove him to his + work. + </p> + <p> + The squall held at its high pitch, and under her small canvas the <i>Willi-Waw</i> + still foamed along. Again the two men stood for'ard and vainly watched in + the horizontal drive of rain. + </p> + <p> + “We're all right,” Griffiths said. “This rain won't last. We can hold this + course till we pick up the lights. Anchor in thirteen fathoms. You'd + better overhaul forty-five on a night like this. After that get the + gaskets on the mainsail. We won't need it.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour afterward his weary eyes were rewarded by a glimpse of two + lights. + </p> + <p> + “There they are, Jacobsen. I'll take the wheel. Run down the fore-staysail + and stand by to let go. Make the niggers jump.” + </p> + <p> + Aft, the spokes of the wheel in his hands, Griffiths held the course till + the two lights came in line, when he abruptly altered and headed directly + in for them. He heard the tumble and roar of the surf, but decided it was + farther away—as it should be, at Gabera. + </p> + <p> + He heard the frightened cry of the mate, and was grinding the wheel down + with all his might, when the <i>Willi-Waw</i> struck. At the same instant + her mainmast crashed over the bow. Five wild minutes followed. All hands + held on while the hull upheaved and smashed down on the brittle coral and + the warm seas swept over them. Grinding and crunching, the <i>Willi-Waw</i> + worked itself clear over the shoal patch and came solidly to rest in the + comparatively smooth and shallow channel beyond. + </p> + <p> + Griffiths sat down on the edge of the cabin, head bowed on chest, in + silent wrath and bitterness. Once he lifted his face to glare at the two + white lights, one above the other and perfectly in line. + </p> + <p> + “There they are,” he said. “And this isn't Gabera. Then what the hell is + it?” + </p> + <p> + Though the surf still roared and across the shoal flung its spray and + upper wash over them, the wind died down and the stars came out. Shoreward + came the sound of oars. + </p> + <p> + “What have you had?—an earthquake?” Griffiths called out. “The + bottom's all changed. I've anchored here a hundred times in thirteen + fathoms. Is that you, Wilson?” + </p> + <p> + A whaleboat came alongside, and a man climbed over the rail. In the faint + light Griffiths found an automatic Colt's thrust into his face, and, + looking up, saw David Grief. + </p> + <p> + “No, you never anchored here before,” Grief laughed. “Gabera's just around + the point, where I'll be as soon as I've collected that little sum of + twelve hundred pounds. We won't bother for the receipt. I've your note + here, and I'll just return it.” + </p> + <p> + “You did this!” Griffiths cried, springing to his feet in a sudden gust of + rage. “You faked those leading lights! You've wrecked me, and by—” + </p> + <p> + “Steady! Steady!” Grief's voice was cool and menacing. “I'll trouble you + for that twelve hundred, please.” + </p> + <p> + To Griffiths, a vast impotence seemed to descend upon him. He was + overwhelmed by a profound disgust—disgust for the sunlands and the + sun-sickness, for the futility of all his endeavour, for this blue-eyed, + golden-tinted, superior man who defeated him on all his ways. + </p> + <p> + “Jacobsen,” he said, “will you open the cash-box and pay this—this + bloodsucker—twelve hundred pounds?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Two—THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS PANKBURN + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Quick eye that he had for the promise of adventure, prepared always for + the unexpected to leap out at him from behind the nearest cocoanut tree, + nevertheless David Grief received no warning when he laid eyes on Aloysius + Pankburn. It was on the little steamer <i>Berthe</i>. Leaving his schooner + to follow, Grief had taken passage for the short run across from Raiatea + to Papeete. When he first saw Aloysius Pankburn, that somewhat fuddled + gentleman was drinking a lonely cocktail at the tiny bar between decks + next to the barber shop. And when Grief left the barber's hands half an + hour later Aloysius Pankburn was still hanging over the bar still drinking + by himself. + </p> + <p> + Now it is not good for man to drink alone, and Grief threw sharp scrutiny + into his pass-ing glance. He saw a well-built young man of thirty, + well-featured, well-dressed, and evidently, in the world's catalogue, a + gentleman. But in the faint hint of slovenliness, in the shaking, eager + hand that spilled the liquor, and in the nervous, vacillating eyes, Grief + read the unmistakable marks of the chronic alcoholic. + </p> + <p> + After dinner he chanced upon Pankburn again. This time it was on deck, and + the young man, clinging to the rail and peering into the distance at the + dim forms of a man and woman in two steamer chairs drawn closely together, + was crying, drunkenly. Grief noted that the man's arm was around the + woman's waist. Aloysius Pankburn looked on and cried. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to weep about,” Grief said genially. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn looked at him, and gushed tears of profound self-pity. + </p> + <p> + “It's hard,” he sobbed. “Hard. Hard. That man's my business manager. I + employ him. I pay him a good screw. And that's how he earns it.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, why don't you put a stop to it?” Grief advised. + </p> + <p> + “I can't. She'd shut off my whiskey. She's my trained nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Fire <i>her</i>, then, and drink your head off.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't. He's got all my money. If I did, he wouldn't give me sixpence to + buy a drink with.” + </p> + <p> + This woful possibility brought a fresh wash of tears. Grief was + interested. Of all unique situations he could never have imagined such a + one as this. + </p> + <p> + “They were engaged to take care of me,” Pankburn was blubbering, “to keep + me away from the drink. And that's the way they do it, lollygagging all + about the ship and letting me drink myself to death. It isn't right, I + tell you. It isn't right. They were sent along with me for the express + purpose of not letting me drink, and they let me drink to swinishness as + long as I leave them alone. If I complain they threaten not to let me have + another drop. What can a poor devil do? My death will be on their heads, + that's all. Come on down and join me.” + </p> + <p> + He released his clutch on the rail, and would have fallen had Grief not + caught his arm. He seemed to undergo a transformation, to stiffen + physically, to thrust his chin forward aggressively, and to glint harshly + in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I won't let them kill me. And they'll be sorry. I've offered them fifty + thousand—later on, of course. They laughed. They don't know. But I + know.” He fumbled in his coat pocket and drew forth an object that flashed + in the faint light. “They don't know the meaning of that. But I do.” He + looked at Grief with abrupt suspicion. “What do you make out of it, eh? + What do you make out of it?” + </p> + <p> + David Grief caught a swift vision of an alcoholic degenerate putting a + very loving young couple to death with a copper spike, for a copper spike + was what he held in his hand, an evident old-fashioned ship-fastening. + </p> + <p> + “My mother thinks I'm up here to get cured of the booze habit. She doesn't + know. I bribed the doctor to prescribe a voyage. When we get to Papeete my + manager is going to charter a schooner and away we'll sail. But they don't + dream. They think it's the booze. I know. I only know. Good night, sir. + I'm going to bed—unless—er—you'll join me in a night + cap. One last drink, you know.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + In the week that followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarre + glimpses of Aloysius Pankburn. So did everybody else in the little island + capital; for neither the beach nor Lavina's boarding house had been so + scandalized in years. In midday, bareheaded, clad only in swimming trunks, + Aloysius Pankburn ran down the main street from Lavina's to the water + front. He put on the gloves with a fireman from the <i>Berthe</i> in a + scheduled four-round bout at the <i>Folies Bergères</i>, and was knocked + out in the second round. He tried insanely to drown himself in a two-foot + pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly from fifty feet up in the + rigging of the <i>Mariposa</i> lying at the wharf, and chartered the + cutter <i>Toerau</i> at more than her purchase price and was only saved by + his manager's refusal financially to ratify the agreement. He bought out + the old blind leper at the market, and sold breadfruit, plantains, and + sweet potatoes at such cut-rates that the gendarmes were called out to + break the rush of bargain-hunting natives. For that matter, three times + the gendarmes arrested him for riotous behaviour, and three times his + manager ceased from love-making long enough to pay the fines imposed by a + needy colonial administration. + </p> + <p> + Then the <i>Mariposa</i> sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suite + were the manager and the trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing, + the manager had thoughtfully bestowed eight five-pound banknotes on + Aloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloysius awoke several days later + to find himself broke and perilously near to delirium tremens. Lavina, + famed for her good heart even among the driftage of South Pacific rogues + and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filter into his returning + intelligence that there was neither manager nor money to pay his board. + </p> + <p> + It was several evenings after this that David Grief, lounging under the + after deck awning of the <i>Kittiwake</i> and idly scanning the meagre + columns of the Papeete <i>Avant-Coureur</i>, sat suddenly up and almost + rubbed his eyes. It was unbelievable, but there it was. The old South Seas + Romance was not dead. He read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WANTED—To exchange a half interest in buried treasure, + worth five million francs, for transportation for one to an + unknown island in the Pacific and facilities for carrying + away the loot. Ask for FOLLY, at Lavina's. +</pre> + <p> + Grief looked at his watch. It was early yet, only eight o'clock. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carlsen,” he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. “Get the crew + for the whale-boat. I'm going ashore.” + </p> + <p> + The husky voice of the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half a dozen + strapping Rapa Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat. + </p> + <p> + “I came to see Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine,” David Grief told Lavina. + </p> + <p> + He noted the quick interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flung a + command in native across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. A few + minutes later a barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + Lavina's disappointment was evident. + </p> + <p> + “You're stopping aboard the <i>Kittiwake</i>, aren't you?” she said. “I'll + tell him you called.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is a <i>he?</i>” Grief queried. + </p> + <p> + Lavina nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you can do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only a + good-natured woman. I don't know. But he's a likable man, and he may be + telling the truth; I don't know. You'll know. You're not a soft-hearted + fool like me. Can't I mix you a cocktail?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Back on board his schooner and dozing in a deck chair under a + three-months-old magazine, David Grief was aroused by a sobbing, + slubbering noise from overside. He opened his eyes. From the Chilian + cruiser, a quarter of a mile away, came the stroke of eight bells. It was + midnight. From overside came a splash and another slubbering noise. To him + it seemed half amphibian, half the sounds of a man crying to himself and + querulously chanting his sorrows to the general universe. + </p> + <p> + A jump took David Grief to the low rail. Beneath, centred about the + slubbering noise, was an area of agitated phosphorescence. Leaning over, + he locked his hand under the armpit of a man, and, with pull and heave and + quick-changing grips, he drew on deck the naked form of Aloysius Pankburn. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't have a sou-markee,” he complained. “I had to swim it, and I + couldn't find your gangway. It was very miserable. Pardon me. If you have + a towel to put about my middle, and a good stiff drink, I'll be more + myself. I'm Mr. Folly, and you're the Captain Grief, I presume, who called + on me when I was out. No, I'm not drunk. Nor am I cold. This isn't + shivering. Lavina allowed me only two drinks to-day. I'm on the edge of + the horrors, that's all, and I was beginning to see things when I couldn't + find the gangway. If you'll take me below I'll be very grateful. You are + the only one that answered my advertisement.” + </p> + <p> + He was shaking pitiably in the warm night, and down in the cabin, before + he got his towel, Grief saw to it that a half-tumbler of whiskey was in + his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Now fire ahead,” Grief said, when he had got his guest into a shirt and a + pair of duck trousers. “What's this advertisement of yours? I'm + listening.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn looked at the whiskey bottle, but Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Captain, though I tell you on whatever is left of my honour + that I am not drunk—not in the least. Also, what I shall tell you is + true, and I shall tell it briefly, for it is clear to me that you are a + man of affairs and action. Likewise, your chemistry is good. To you + alcohol has never been a million maggots gnawing at every cell of you. + You've never been to hell. I am there now. I am scorching. Now listen. + </p> + <p> + “My mother is alive. She is English. I was born in Australia. I was + educated at York and Yale. I am a master of arts, a doctor of philosophy, + and I am no good. Furthermore, I am an alcoholic. I have been an athlete. + I used to swan-dive a hundred and ten feet in the clear. I hold several + amateur records. I am a fish. I learned the crawl-stroke from the first of + the Cavilles. I have done thirty miles in a rough sea. I have another + record. I have punished more whiskey than any man of my years. I will + steal sixpence from you for the price of a drink. Finally, I will tell you + the truth. + </p> + <p> + “My father was an American—an Annapolis man. He was a midshipman in + the War of the Rebellion. In '66 he was a lieutenant on the <i>Suwanee</i>. + Her captain was Paul Shirley. In '66 the Suwanee coaled at an island in + the Pacific which I do not care to mention, under a protectorate which did + not exist then and which shall be nameless. Ashore, behind the bar of a + public house, my father saw three copper spikes—ship's spikes.” + </p> + <p> + David Grief smiled quietly. + </p> + <p> + “And now I can tell you the name of the coaling station and of the + protectorate that came afterward,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And of the three spikes?” Pankburn asked with equal quietness. “Go ahead, + for they are in my possession now.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. They were behind German Oscar's bar at Peenoo-Peenee. Johnny + Black brought them there from off his schooner the night he died. He was + just back from a long cruise to the westward, fishing beche-de-mer and + sandalwood trading. All the beach knows the tale.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he urged. + </p> + <p> + “It was before my time, of course,” Grief explained. “I only tell what + I've heard. Next came the Ecuadoran cruiser, of all directions, in from + the westward, and bound home. Her officers recognized the spikes. Johnny + Black was dead. They got hold of his mate and logbook. Away to the + westward went she. Six months after, again bound home, she dropped in at + Peenoo-Peenee. She had failed, and the tale leaked out.” + </p> + <p> + “When the revolutionists were marching on Guayaquil,” Pankburn took it up, + “the federal officers, believing a defence of the city hopeless, salted + down the government treasure chest, something like a million dollars gold, + but all in English coinage, and put it on board the American schooner <i>Flirt</i>. + They were going to run at daylight. The American captain skinned out in + the middle of the night. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “It's an old story,” Grief resumed. “There was no other vessel in the + harbour. The federal leaders couldn't run. They put their backs to the + wall and held the city. Rohjas Salced, making a forced march from Quito, + raised the siege. The revolution was broken, and the one ancient steamer + that constituted the Ecuadoran navy was sent in pursuit of the <i>Flirt</i>. + They caught her, between the Banks Group and the New Hebrides, hove to and + flying distress signals. The captain had died the day before—blackwater + fever.” + </p> + <p> + “And the mate?” Pankburn challenged. + </p> + <p> + “The mate had been killed a week earlier by the natives on one of the + Banks, when they sent a boat in for water. There were no navigators left. + The men were put to the torture. It was beyond international law. They + wanted to confess, but couldn't. They told of the three spikes in the + trees on the beach, but where the island was they did not know. To the + westward, far to the westward, was all they knew. The tale now goes two + ways. One is that they all died under the torture. The other is that the + survivors were swung at the yardarm. At any rate, the Ecuadoran cruiser + went home without the treasure. Johnny Black brought the three spikes to + Peenoo-Peenee, and left them at German Oscar's, but how and where he found + them he never told.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn looked hard at the whiskey bottle. + </p> + <p> + “Just two fingers,” he whimpered. + </p> + <p> + Grief considered, and poured a meagre drink. Pankburn's eyes sparkled, and + he took new lease of life. + </p> + <p> + “And this is where I come in with the missing details,” he said. “Johnny + Black did tell. He told my father. Wrote him from Levuka, before he came + on to die at Peenoo-Peenee. My father had saved his life one rough-house + night in Valparaiso. A Chink pearler, out of Thursday Island, prospecting + for new grounds to the north of New Guinea, traded for the three spikes + with a nigger. Johnny Black bought them for copper weight. He didn't dream + any more than the Chink, but coming back he stopped for hawksbill turtle + at the very beach where you say the mate of the <i>Flirt</i> was killed. + Only he wasn't killed. The Banks Islanders held him prisoner, and he was + dying of necrosis of the jawbone, caused by an arrow wound in the fight on + the beach. Before he died he told the yarn to Johnny Black. Johnny Black + wrote my father from Levuka. He was at the end of his rope—cancer. + My father, ten years afterward, when captain of the <i>Perry</i>, got the + spikes from German Oscar. And from my father, last will and testament, you + know, came the spikes and the data. I have the island, the latitude and + longitude of the beach where the three spikes were nailed in the trees. + The spikes are up at Lavina's now. The latitude and longitude are in my + head. Now what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Fishy,” was Grief's instant judgment. “Why didn't your father go and get + it himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't need it. An uncle died and left him a fortune. He retired from the + navy, ran foul of an epidemic of trained nurses in Boston, and my mother + got a divorce. Also, she fell heir to an income of something like thirty + thousand dollars, and went to live in New Zealand. I was divided between + them, half-time New Zealand, half-time United States, until my father's + death last year. Now my mother has me altogether. He left me his money—oh, + a couple of millions—but my mother has had guardians appointed on + account of the drink. I'm worth all kinds of money, but I can't touch a + penny save what is doled out to me. But the old man, who had got the tip + on my drinking, left me the three spikes and the data thereunto + pertaining. Did it through his lawyers, unknown to my mother; said it beat + life insurance, and that if I had the backbone to go and get it I could + drink my back teeth awash until I died. Millions in the hands of my + guardians, slathers of shekels of my mother's that'll be mine if she beats + me to the crematory, another million waiting to be dug up, and in the + meantime I'm cadging on Lavina for two drinks a day. It's hell, isn't it?—when + you consider my thirst.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the island?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a long way from here.” + </p> + <p> + “Name it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life, Captain Grief. You're making an easy half-million out + of this. You will sail under my directions, and when we're well to sea and + on our way I'll tell you and not before.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the subject. + </p> + <p> + “When I've given you another drink I'll send the boat ashore with you,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn was taken aback. For at least five minutes he debated with + himself, then licked his lips and surrendered. + </p> + <p> + “If you promise to go, I'll tell you now.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'm willing to go. That's why I asked you. Name the island.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn looked at the bottle. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take that drink now, Captain.” + </p> + <p> + “No you won't. That drink was for you if you went ashore. If you are going + to tell me the island, you must do it in your sober senses.” + </p> + <p> + “Francis Island, if you will have it. Bougainville named it Barbour + Island.” + </p> + <p> + “Off there all by its lonely in the Little Coral Sea,” Grief said. “I know + it. Lies between New Ireland and New Guinea. A rotten hole now, though it + was all right when the <i>Flirt</i> drove in the spikes and the Chink + pearler traded for them. The steamship <i>Castor</i>, recruiting labour + for the Upolu plantations, was cut off there with all hands two years ago. + I knew her captain well. The Germans sent a cruiser, shelled the bush, + burned half a dozen villages, killed a couple of niggers and a lot of + pigs, and—and that was all. The niggers always were bad there, but + they turned really bad forty years ago. That was when they cut off a + whaler. Let me see? What was her name?” + </p> + <p> + He stepped to the bookshelf, drew out the bulky “South Pacific Directory,” + and ran through its pages. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Here it is. Francis, or Barbour,” he skimmed. “Natives warlike and + treacherous—Melanesian—cannibals. Whaleship <i>Western</i> cut + off—that was her name. Shoals—points—anchorages—ah, + Redscar, Owen Bay, Likikili Bay, that's more like it; deep indentation, + mangrove swamps, good holding in nine fathoms when white scar in bluff + bears west-southwest.” Grief looked up. “That's your beach, Pankburn, I'll + swear.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you go?” the other demanded eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “It sounds good to me. Now if the story had been of a hundred millions, or + some such crazy sum, I wouldn't look at it for a moment. We'll sail + to-morrow, but under one consideration. You are to be absolutely under my + orders.” + </p> + <p> + His visitor nodded emphatically and joyously. + </p> + <p> + “And that means no drink.” + </p> + <p> + “That's pretty hard,” Pankburn whined. + </p> + <p> + “It's my terms. I'm enough of a doctor to see you don't come to harm. And + you are to work—hard work, sailor's work. You'll stand regular + watches and everything, though you eat and sleep aft with us.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a go.” Pankburn put out his hand to ratify the agreement. “If it + doesn't kill me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + David Grief poured a generous three-fingers into the tumbler and extended + it. + </p> + <p> + “Then here's your last drink. Take it.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn's hand went halfway out. With a sudden spasm of resolution, he + hesitated, threw back his shoulders, and straightened up his head. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I won't,” he began, then, feebly surrendering to the gnaw of + desire, he reached hastily for the glass, as if in fear that it would be + withdrawn. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + It is a long traverse from Papeete in the Societies to the Little Coral + Sea—from 100 west longitude to 150 east longitude—as the crow + flies the equivalent to a voyage across the Atlantic. But the <i>Kittiwake</i> + did not go as the crow flies. David Grief's numerous interests diverted + her course many times. He stopped to take a look-in at uninhabited Rose + Island with an eye to colonizing and planting cocoa-nuts. Next, he paid + his respects to Tui Manua, of Eastern Samoa, and opened an intrigue for a + share of the trade monopoly of that dying king's three islands. From Apia + he carried several relief agents and a load of trade goods to the + Gilberts. He peeped in at Ontong-Java Atoll, inspected his plantations on + Ysabel, and purchased lands from the salt-water chiefs of northwestern + Malaita. And all along this devious way he made a man of Aloysius + Pankburn. + </p> + <p> + That thirster, though he lived aft, was compelled to do the work of a + common sailor. And not only did he take his wheel and lookout, and heave + on sheets and tackles, but the dirtiest and most arduous tasks were + appointed him. Swung aloft in a bosun's chair, he scraped the masts and + slushed down. Holystoning the deck or scrubbing it with fresh limes made + his back ache and developed the wasted, flabby muscles. When the <i>Kittiwake</i> + lay at anchor and her copper bottom was scrubbed with cocoa-nut husks by + the native crew, who dived and did it under water, Pankburn was sent down + on his shift and as many times as any on the shift. + </p> + <p> + “Look at yourself,” Grief said. “You are twice the man you were when you + came on board. You haven't had one drink, you didn't die, and the poison + is pretty well worked out of you. It's the work. It beats trained nurses + and business managers. Here, if you're thirsty. Clap your lips to this.” + </p> + <p> + With several deft strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Grief clipped + a triangular piece of shell from the end of a husked drinking-cocoa-nut. + The thin, cool liquid, slightly milky and effervescent, bubbled to the + brim. With a bow, Pankburn took the natural cup, threw his head back, and + held it back till the shell was empty. He drank many of these nuts each + day. The black steward, a New Hebrides boy sixty years of age, and his + assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw to it that he was continually + supplied. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn did not object to the hard work. He devoured work, never shirking + and always beating the native sailors in jumping to obey a command. But + his sufferings during the period of driving the alcohol out of his system + were truly heroic. Even when the last shred of the poison was exuded, the + desire, as an obsession, remained in his head. So it was, when, on his + honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he attempted to put the public houses + out of business by drinking up their stocks in trade. And so it was, at + two in the morning, that David Grief found him in front of the Tivoli, out + of which he had been disorderly thrown by Charley Roberts. Aloysius, as of + old, was chanting his sorrows to the stars. Also, and more concretely, he + was punctuating the rhythm with cobbles of coral stone, which he flung + with amazing accuracy through Charley Roberts's windows. + </p> + <p> + David Grief took him away, but not till next morning did he take him in + hand. It was on the deck of the <i>Kittiwake</i>, and there was nothing + kindergarten about it. Grief struck him, with bare knuckles, punched him + and punished him—gave him the worst thrashing he had ever received. + </p> + <p> + “For the good of your soul, Pankburn,” was the way he emphasized his + blows. “For the good of your mother. For the progeny that will come after. + For the good of the world, and the universe, and the whole race of man yet + to be. And now, to hammer the lesson home, we'll do it all over again. + That, for the good of your soul; and that, for your mother's sake; and + that, for the little children, undreamed of and unborn, whose mother + you'll love for their sakes, and for love's sake, in the lease of manhood + that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on and take your + medicine. I'm not done with you yet. I've only begun. There are many other + reasons which I shall now proceed to expound.” The brown sailors and the + black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far from them was the + questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensible ways of white + men. As for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accord with the treatment + his employer was administering; while Albright, the supercargo, merely + played with his mustache and smiled. They were men of the sea. They lived + life in the rough. And alcohol, in themselves as well as in other men, was + a problem they had learned to handle in ways not taught in doctors' + schools. + </p> + <p> + “Boy! A bucket of fresh water and a towel,” Grief ordered, when he had + finished. “Two buckets and two towels,” he added, as he surveyed his own + hands. + </p> + <p> + “You're a pretty one,” he said to Pankburn. “You've spoiled everything. I + had the poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reeking with + it. We've got to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know that pile of + old chain on the beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buy it, and + fetch it on board. There must be a hundred and fifty fathoms of it. + Pankburn! To-morrow morning you start in pounding the rust off of it. When + you've done that, you'll sandpaper it. Then you'll paint it. And nothing + else will you do till that chain is as smooth as new.” + </p> + <p> + Aloysius Pankburn shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I quit. Francis Island can go to hell for all of me. I'm done with your + slave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. I'm a white man. You can't + treat me this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have you broken for this!” Aloysius screamed. “You can't stop me.” + </p> + <p> + “I can give you another licking,” Grief answered. “And let me tell you one + thing, you besotted whelp, I'll keep on licking you as long as my knuckles + hold out or until you yearn to hammer chain rust. I've taken you in hand, + and I'm going to make a man out of you if I have to kill you to do it. Now + go below and change your clothes. Be ready to turn to with a hammer this + afternoon. Mr. Albright, get that chain aboard pronto. Mr. Carlsen, send + the boats ashore after it. Also, keep your eye on Pankburn. If he shows + signs of keeling over or going into the shakes, give him a nip—a + small one. He may need it after last night.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + For the rest of the time the <i>Kittiwake</i> lay in Apia Aloysius + Pankburn pounded chain rust. Ten hours a day he pounded. And on the long + stretch across to the Gilberts he still pounded. + </p> + <p> + Then came the sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is nine hundred + feet, and every link of all that length was smoothed and polished as no + link ever was before. And when the last link had received its second coat + of black paint, he declared himself. + </p> + <p> + “Come on with more dirty work,” he told Grief. “I'll overhaul the other + chains if you say so. And you needn't worry about me any more. I'm not + going to take another drop. I'm going to train up. You got my proud goat + when you beat me, but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily. Train! + I'm going to train till I'm as hard all the way through, and clean all the + way through, as that chain is. And some day, Mister David Grief, + somewhere, somehow, I'm going to be in such shape that I'll lick you as + you licked me. I'm going to pulp your face till your own niggers won't + know you.” + </p> + <p> + Grief was jubilant. + </p> + <p> + “Now you're talking like a man,” he cried. “The only way you'll ever lick + me is to become a man. And then, maybe—” + </p> + <p> + He paused in the hope that the other would catch the suggestion. Aloysius + groped for it, and, abruptly, something akin to illumination shone in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And then I won't want to, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And that's the curse of it,” Aloysius lamented. “I really believe I won't + want to. I see the point. But I'm going to go right on and shape myself up + just the same.” + </p> + <p> + The warm, sunburn glow in Grief's face seemed to grow warmer. His hand + went out. + </p> + <p> + “Pankburn, I love you right now for that.” + </p> + <p> + Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity. + </p> + <p> + “Grief,” he mourned, “you've got my goat, you've got my proud goat, and + you've got it permanently, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + On a sultry tropic day, when the last flicker of the far southeast trade + was fading out and the seasonal change for the northwest monsoon was + coming on, the <i>Kittiwake</i> lifted above the sea-rim the jungle-clad + coast of Francis Island. + </p> + <p> + Grief, with compass bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano that + marked Redscar, ran past Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze at the + entrance to Likikili Bay. With the two whaleboats out and towing, and with + Carl-sen heaving the lead, the <i>Kittiwake</i> sluggishly entered a deep + and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The mangroves began at the + water's edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, broken here and there by + jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white scar on the + bluff bore west-southwest, the lead vindicated the “Directory,” and the + anchor rumbled down in nine fathoms. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of that day and until the afternoon of the day following they + remained on the <i>Kittiwake</i> and waited. No canoes appeared. There + were no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish or + the screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, a + huge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over their + mastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle. + </p> + <p> + “There's no use in sending a boat in to be cut up,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn was incredulous, and volunteered to go in alone, to swim it if he + couldn't borrow the dingey. + </p> + <p> + “They haven't forgotten the German cruiser,” Grief explained. “And I'll + wager that bush is alive with men right now. What do you think, Mr. + Carlsen?” + </p> + <p> + That veteran adventurer of the islands was emphatic in his agreement. + </p> + <p> + In the late afternoon of the second day Grief ordered a whaleboat into the + water. He took his place in the bow, a live cigarette in his mouth and a + short-fused stick of dynamite in his hand, for he was bent on shooting a + mess of fish. Along the thwarts half a dozen Winchesters were placed. + Albright, who took the steering-sweep, had a Mauser within reach of hand. + They pulled in and along the green wall of vegetation. At times they + rested on the oars in the midst of a profound silence. + </p> + <p> + “Two to one the bush is swarming with them—in quids,” Albright + whispered. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn listened a moment longer and took the bet. Five minutes later + they sighted a school of mullet. The brown rowers held their oars. Grief + touched the short fuse to his cigarette and threw the stick. So short was + the fuse that the stick exploded in the instant after it struck the water. + And in that same instant the bush exploded into life. There were wild + yells of defiance, and black and naked bodies leaped forward like apes + through the mangroves. + </p> + <p> + In the whaleboat every rifle was lifted. Then came the wait. A hundred + blacks, some few armed with ancient Sniders, but the greater portion armed + with tomahawks, fire-hardened spears, and bone-tipped arrows, clustered on + the roots that rose out of the bay. No word was spoken. Each party watched + the other across twenty feet of water. An old, one-eyed black, with a + bristly face, rested a Snider on his hip, the muzzle directed at Albright, + who, in turn, covered him back with the Mauser. A couple of minutes of + this tableau endured. The stricken fish rose to the surface or struggled + half-stunned in the clear depths. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, boys,” Grief said quietly. “Put down your guns and over + the side with you. Mr. Albright, toss the tobacco to that one-eyed brute.” + </p> + <p> + While the Rapa men dived for the fish, Albright threw a bundle of trade + tobacco ashore. The one-eyed man nodded his head and writhed his features + in an attempt at amiability. Weapons were lowered, bows unbent, and arrows + put back in their quivers. + </p> + <p> + “They know tobacco,” Grief announced, as they rowed back aboard. “We'll + have visitors. You'll break out a case of tobacco, Mr. Albright, and a few + trade-knives. There's a canoe now.” + </p> + <p> + Old One-Eye, as befitted a chief and leader, paddled out alone, facing + peril for the rest of the tribe. As Carlsen leaned over the rail to help + the visitor up, he turned his head and remarked casually: + </p> + <p> + “They've dug up the money, Mr. Grief. The old beggar's loaded with it.” + </p> + <p> + One-Eye floundered down on deck, grinning appeasingly and failing to hide + the fear he had overcome but which still possessed him. He was lame of one + leg, and this was accounted for by a terrible scar, inches deep, which ran + down the thigh from hip to knee. No clothes he wore whatever, not even a + string, but his nose, perforated in a dozen places and each perforation + the setting for a carved spine of bone, bristled like a porcupine. Around + his neck and hanging down on his dirty chest was a string of gold + sovereigns. His ears were hung with silver half-crowns, and from the + cartilage separating his nostrils depended a big English penny, tarnished + and green, but unmistakable. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, Grief,” Pankburn said, with perfectly assumed carelessness. “You + say they know only beads and tobacco. Very well. You follow my lead. + They've found the treasure, and we've got to trade them out of it. Get the + whole crew aside and lecture them that they are to be interested only in + the pennies. Savve? Gold coins must be beneath contempt, and silver coins + merely tolerated. Pennies are to be the only desirable things.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn took charge of the trading. For the penny in One-Eye's nose he + gave ten sticks of tobacco. Since each stick cost David Grief a cent, the + bargain was manifestly unfair. But for the half-crowns Pankburn gave only + one stick each. The string of sovereigns he refused to consider. The more + he refused, the more One-Eye insisted on a trade. At last, with an + appearance of irritation and anger, and as a palpable concession, Pankburn + gave two sticks for the string, which was composed of ten sovereigns. + </p> + <p> + “I take my hat off to you,” Grief said to Pankburn that night at dinner. + “The situation is patent. You've reversed the scale of value. They'll + figure the pennies as priceless possessions and the sovereigns as beneath + price. Result: they'll hang on to the pennies and force us to trade for + sovereigns. Pankburn, I drink your health! Boy!—another cup of tea + for Mr. Pankburn.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Followed a golden week. From dawn till dark a row of canoes rested on + their paddles two hundred feet away. This was the deadline. Rapa sailors, + armed with rifles, maintained it. But one canoe at a time was permitted + alongside, and but one black at a time was permitted to come over the + rail. Here, under the awning, relieving one another in hourly shifts, the + four white men carried on the trade. The rate of exchange was that + established by Pankburn with One-Eye. Five sovereigns fetched a stick of + tobacco; a hundred sovereigns, twenty sticks. Thus, a crafty-eyed cannibal + would deposit on the table a thousand dollars in gold, and go back over + the rail, hugely-satisfied, with forty cents' worth of tobacco in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hope we've got enough tobacco to hold out,” Carlsen muttered dubiously, + as another case was sawed in half. + </p> + <p> + Albright laughed. + </p> + <p> + “We've got fifty cases below,” he said, “and as I figure it, three cases + buy a hundred thousand dollars. There was only a million dollars buried, + so thirty cases ought to get it. Though, of course, we've got to allow a + margin for the silver and the pennies. That Ecuadoran bunch must have + salted down all the coin in sight.” + </p> + <p> + Very few pennies and shillings appeared, though Pankburn continually and + anxiously inquired for them. Pennies were the one thing he seemed to + desire, and he made his eyes flash covetously whenever one was produced. + True to his theory, the savages concluded that the gold, being of slight + value, must be disposed of first. A penny, worth fifty times as much as a + sovereign, was something to retain and treasure. Doubtless, in their + jungle-lairs, the wise old gray-beards put their heads together and agreed + to raise the price on pennies when the worthless gold was all worked off. + Who could tell? Mayhap the strange white men could be made to give even + twenty sticks for a priceless copper. + </p> + <p> + By the end of the week the trade went slack. There was only the slightest + dribble of gold. An occasional penny was reluctantly disposed of for ten + sticks, while several thousand dollars in silver came in. + </p> + <p> + On the morning of the eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beards had + matured their plan and were demanding twenty sticks for a penny, One-Eye + delivered the new rate of exchange. The white men appeared to take it with + great seriousness, for they stood together debating in low voices. Had + One-Eye understood English he would have been enlightened. + </p> + <p> + “We've got just a little over eight hundred thousand, not counting the + silver,” Grief said. “And that's about all there is. The bush tribes + behind have most probably got the other two hundred thousand. Return in + three months, and the salt-water crowd will have traded back for it; also + they will be out of tobacco by that time.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a sin to buy pennies,” Albright grinned. “It goes against the + thrifty grain of my trader's soul.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a whiff of land-breeze stirring,” Grief said, looking at + Pankburn. “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” Grief measured the faintness and irregularity of the wind + against his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carlsen, heave short, and get off the gaskets. And stand by with the + whaleboats to tow. This breeze is not dependable.” + </p> + <p> + He picked up a part case of tobacco, containing six or seven hundred + sticks, put it in One-Eye's hands, and helped that bewildered savage over + the rail. As the foresail went up the mast, a wail of consternation arose + from the canoes lying along the dead-line. And as the anchor broke out and + the <i>Kittiwake's</i> head paid off in the light breeze, old One-Eye, + daring the rifles levelled on him, paddled alongside and made frantic + signs of his tribe's willingness to trade pennies for ten sticks. + </p> + <p> + “Boy!—a drinking nut,” Pankburn called. + </p> + <p> + “It's Sydney Heads for you,” Grief said. “And then what?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm coming back with you for that two hundred thousand,” Pankburn + answered. “In the meantime I'm going to build an island schooner. Also, + I'm going to call those guardians of mine before the court to show cause + why my father's money should not be turned over to me. Show cause? I'll + show them cause why it should.” + </p> + <p> + He swelled his biceps proudly under the thin sleeve, reached for the two + black stewards, and put them above his head like a pair of dumbbells. + </p> + <p> + “Come on! Swing out on that fore-boom-tackle!” Carlsen shouted from aft, + where the mainsail was being winged out. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn dropped the stewards and raced for it, beating a Rapa sailor by + two jumps to the hauling part. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Three—THE DEVILS OF FUATINO + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Of his many schooners, ketches and cutters that nosed about among the + coral isles of the South Seas, David Grief loved most the <i>Rattler</i>—a + yacht-like schooner of ninety tons with so swift a pair of heels that she + had made herself famous, in the old days, opium-smuggling from San Diego + to Puget Sound, raiding the seal-rookeries of Bering Sea, and running arms + in the Far East. A stench and an abomination to government officials, she + had been the joy of all sailormen, and the pride of the shipwrights who + built her. Even now, after forty years of driving, she was still the same + old <i>Rattler</i>, fore-reaching in the same marvellous manner that + compelled sailors to see in order to believe and that punctuated many an + angry discussion with words and blows on the beaches of all the ports from + Valparaiso to Manila Bay. + </p> + <p> + On this night, close-hauled, her big mainsail preposterously flattened + down, her luffs pulsing emptily on the lift of each smooth swell, she was + sliding an easy four knots through the water on the veriest whisper of a + breeze. For an hour David Grief had been leaning on the rail at the lee + fore-rigging, gazing overside at the steady phosphorescence of her gait. + The faint back-draught from the headsails fanned his cheek and chest with + a wine of coolness, and he was in an ecstasy of appreciation of the + schooner's qualities. + </p> + <p> + “Eh!—She's a beauty, Taute, a beauty,” he said to the Kanaka + lookout, at the same time stroking the teak of the rail with an + affectionate hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, skipper,” the Kanaka answered in the rich, big-chested tones of + Polynesia. “Thirty years I know ships, but never like 'this. On Raiatea we + call her <i>Fanauao</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “The Dayborn,” Grief translated the love-phrase. “Who named her so?” + </p> + <p> + About to answer, Taute peered ahead with sudden intensity. Grief joined + him in the gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Land,” said Taute. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Fuatino,” Grief agreed, his eyes still fixed on the spot where the + star-luminous horizon was gouged by a blot of blackness. “It's all right. + I'll tell the captain.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Rattler</i> slid along until the loom of the island could be seen + as well as sensed, until the sleepy roar of breakers and the blatting of + goats could be heard, until the wind, off the land, was flower-drenched + with perfume. + </p> + <p> + “If it wasn't a crevice, she could run the passage a night like this,” + Captain Glass remarked regretfully, as he watched the wheel lashed hard + down by the steersman. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Rattler</i>, run off shore a mile, had been hove to to wait until + daylight ere she attempted the perilous entrance to Fuatino. It was a + perfect tropic night, with no hint of rain or squall. For'ard, wherever + their tasks left them, the Raiatea sailors sank down to sleep on deck. + Aft, the captain and mate and Grief spread their beds with similar languid + unconcern. They lay on their blankets, smoking and murmuring sleepy + conjectures about Mataara, the Queen of Fuatino, and about the love affair + between her daughter, Naumoo, and Motuaro. + </p> + <p> + “They're certainly a romantic lot,” Brown, the mate, said. “As romantic as + we whites.” + </p> + <p> + “As romantic as Pilsach,” Grief laughed, “and that is going some. How long + ago was it, Captain, that he jumped you?” + </p> + <p> + “Eleven years,” Captain Glass grunted resentfully. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about it,” Brown pleaded. “They say he's never left Fuatino + since. Is that right?” + </p> + <p> + “Right O,” the captain rumbled. “He's in love with his wife—the + little hussy! Stole him from me, and as good a sailorman as the trade has + ever seen—if he is a Dutchman.” + </p> + <p> + “German,” Grief corrected. + </p> + <p> + “It's all the same,” was the retort. “The sea was robbed of a good man + that night he went ashore and Notutu took one look at him. I reckon they + looked good to each other. Before you could say skat, she'd put a wreath + of some kind of white flowers on his head, and in five minutes they were + off down the beach, like a couple of kids, holding hands and laughing. I + hope he's blown that big coral patch out of the channel. I always start a + sheet or two of copper warping past.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on with the story,” Brown urged. + </p> + <p> + “That's all. He was finished right there. Got married that night. Never + came on board again. I looked him up next day. Found him in a straw house + in the bush, barelegged, a white savage, all mixed up with flowers and + things and playing a guitar. Looked like a bally ass. Told me to send his + things ashore. I told him I'd see him damned first. And that's all. You'll + see her to-morrow. They've got three kiddies now—wonderful little + rascals. I've a phonograph down below for him, and about a million + records.” + </p> + <p> + “And then you made him trader?” the mate inquired of Grief. + </p> + <p> + “What else could I do? Fuatino is a love island, and Filsach is a lover. + He knows the native, too—one of the best traders I've got, or ever + had. He's responsible. You'll see him to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, young man,” Captain Glass rumbled threateningly at his mate. + “Are you romantic? Because if you are, on board you stay. Fuatino's the + island of romantic insanity. Everybody's in love with somebody. They live + on love. It's in the milk of the cocoa-nuts, or the air, or the sea. The + history of the island for the last ten thousand years is nothing but love + affairs. I know. I've talked with the old men. And if I catch you starting + down the beach hand in hand—” + </p> + <p> + His sudden cessation caused both the other men to look at him. They + followed his gaze, which passed across them to the main rigging, and saw + what he saw, a brown hand and arm, muscular and wet, being joined from + overside by a second brown hand and arm. A head followed, thatched with + long elfin locks, and then a face, with roguish black eyes, lined with the + marks of wildwood's laughter. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” Brown breathed. “It's a faun—a sea-faun.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the Goat Man,” said Glass. + </p> + <p> + “It is Mauriri,” said Grief. “He is my own blood brother by sacred plight + of native custom. His name is mine, and mine is his.” + </p> + <p> + Broad brown shoulders and a magnificent chest rose above the rail, and, + with what seemed effortless ease, the whole grand body followed over the + rail and noiselessly trod the deck. Brown, who might have been other + things than the mate of an island schooner, was enchanted. All that he had + ever gleaned from the books proclaimed indubitably the faun-likeness of + this visitant of the deep. “But a sad faun,” was the young man's judgment, + as the golden-brown woods god strode forward to where David Grief sat up + with outstretched hand. + </p> + <p> + “David,” said David Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Mauriri, Big Brother,” said Mauriri. + </p> + <p> + And thereafter, in the custom of men who have pledged blood brotherhood, + each called the other, not by the other's name, but by his own. Also, they + talked in the Polynesian tongue of Fuatino, and Brown could only sit and + guess. + </p> + <p> + “A long swim to say <i>talofa</i>,” Grief said, as the other sat and + streamed water on the deck. + </p> + <p> + “Many days and nights have I watched for your coming, Big Brother,” + Mauriri replied. “I have sat on the Big Rock, where the dynamite is kept, + of which I have been made keeper. I saw you come up to the entrance and + run back into darkness. I knew you waited till morning, and I followed. + Great trouble has come upon us. Mataara has cried these many days for your + coming. She is an old woman, and Motauri is dead, and she is sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he marry Naumoo?” Grief asked, after he had shaken his head and + sighed by the custom. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. In the end they ran to live with the goats, till Mataara forgave, + when they returned to live with her in the Big House. But he is now dead, + and Naumoo soon will die. Great is our trouble, Big Brother. Tori is dead, + and Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and Nari, and Pilsach, and others.” + </p> + <p> + “Pilsach, too!” Grief exclaimed. “Has there been a sickness?” + </p> + <p> + “There has been much killing. Listen, Big Brother, Three weeks ago a + strange schooner came. From the Big Rock I saw her topsails above the sea. + She towed in with her boats, but they did not warp by the big patch, and + she pounded many times. She is now on the beach, where they are + strengthening the broken timbers. There are eight white men on board. They + have women from some island far to the east. The women talk a language in + many ways like ours, only different. But we can understand. They say they + were stolen by the men on the schooner. We do not know, but they sing and + dance and are happy.” + </p> + <p> + “And the men?” Grief interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “They talk French. I know, for there was a mate on your schooner who + talked French long ago. There are two chief men, and they do not look like + the others. They have blue eyes like you, and they are devils. One is a + bigger devil than the other. The other six are also devils. They do not + pay us for our yams, and taro, and breadfruit. They take everything from + us, and if we complain they kill us. Thus was killed Tori, and Tati-Tori, + and Petoo, and others. We cannot fight, for we have no guns—only two + or three old guns. + </p> + <p> + “They ill-treat our women. Thus was killed Motuaro, who made defence of + Naumoo, whom they have now taken on board their schooner. It was because + of this that Pilsach was killed. Him the chief of the two chief men, the + Big Devil, shot once in his whaleboat, and twice when he tried to crawl up + the sand of the beach. Pilsach was a brave man, and Notutu now sits in the + house and cries without end. Many of the people are afraid, and have run + to live with the goats. But there is not food for all in the high + mountains. And the men will not go out and fish, and they work no more in + the gardens because of the devils who take all they have. And we are ready + to fight. + </p> + <p> + “Big Brother, we need guns, and much ammunition. I sent word before I swam + out to you, and the men are waiting. The strange white men do not know you + are come. Give me a boat, and the guns, and I will go back before the sun. + And when you come to-morrow we will be ready for the word from you to kill + the strange white men. They must be killed. Big Brother, you have ever + been of the blood with us, and the men and women have prayed to many gods + for your coming. And you are come.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go in the boat with you,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + “No, Big Brother,” was Mauriri's reply. “You must be with the schooner. + The strange white men will fear the schooner, not us. We will have the + guns, and they will not know. It is only when they see your schooner come + that they will be alarmed. Send the young man there with the boat.” + </p> + <p> + So it was that Brown, thrilling with all the romance and adventure he had + read and guessed and never lived, took his place in the sternsheets of a + whaleboat, loaded with rifles and cartridges, rowed by four Baiatea + sailors, steered by a golden-brown, sea-swimming faun, and directed + through the warm tropic darkness toward the half-mythical love island of + Fuatino, which had been invaded by twentieth century pirates. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + If a line be drawn between Jaluit, in the Marshall Group, and + Bougainville, in the Solomons, and if this line be bisected at two degrees + south of the equator by a line drawn from Ukuor, in the Carolines, the + high island of Fuatino will be raised in that sun-washed stretch of lonely + sea. Inhabited by a stock kindred to the Hawaiian, the Samoan, the + Tahitian, and the Maori, Fuatino becomes the apex of the wedge driven by + Polynesia far to the west and in between Melanesia and Micronesia. And it + was Fuatino that David Grief raised next morning, two miles to the east + and in direct line with the rising sun. The same whisper of a breeze held, + and the <i>Rattler</i> slid through the smooth sea at a rate that would + have been eminently proper for an island schooner had the breeze been + thrice as strong. + </p> + <p> + Fuatino was nothing else than an ancient crater, thrust upward from the + sea-bottom by some primordial cataclysm. The western portion, broken and + crumbled to sea level, was the entrance to the crater itself, which + constituted the harbour. Thus, Fuatino was like a rugged horseshoe, the + heel pointing to the west. And into the opening at the heel the Rattler + steered. Captain Glass, binoculars in hand and peering at the chart made + by himself, which was spread on top the cabin, straightened up with an + expression on his face that was half alarm, half resignation. + </p> + <p> + “It's coming,” he said. “Fever. It wasn't due till to-morrow. It always + hits me hard, Mr. Grief. In five minutes I'll be off my head. You'll have + to con the schooner in. Boy! Get my bunk ready! Plenty of blankets! Fill + that hot-water bottle! It's so calm, Mr. Grief, that I think you can pass + the big patch without warping. Take the leading wind and shoot her. She's + the only craft in the South Pacific that can do it, and I know you know + the trick. You can scrape the Big Rock by just watching out for the main + boom.” + </p> + <p> + He had talked rapidly, almost like a drunken man, as his reeling brain + battled with the rising shock of the malarial stroke. When he stumbled + toward the companionway, his face was purpling and mottling as if attacked + by some monstrous inflammation or decay. His eyes were setting in a glassy + bulge, his hands shaking, his teeth clicking in the spasms of chill. + </p> + <p> + “Two hours to get the sweat,” he chattered with a ghastly grin. “And a + couple more and I'll be all right. I know the damned thing to the last + minute it runs its course. Y-y-you t-t-take ch-ch-ch-ch——” + </p> + <p> + His voice faded away in a weak stutter as he collapsed down into the cabin + and his employer took charge. The <i>Rattler</i> was just entering the + passage. The heels of the horseshoe island were two huge mountains of rock + a thousand feet high, each almost broken off from the mainland and + connected with it by a low and narrow peninsula. Between the heels was a + half-mile stretch, all but blocked by a reef of coral extending across + from the south heel. The passage, which Captain Glass had called a + crevice, twisted into this reef, curved directly to the north heel, and + ran along the base of the perpendicular rock. At this point, with the + main-boom almost grazing the rock on the port side, Grief, peering down on + the starboard side, could see bottom less than two fathoms beneath and + shoaling steeply. With a whaleboat towing for steerage and as a precaution + against back-draughts from the cliff, and taking advantage of a fan of + breeze, he shook the Rattler full into it and glided by the big coral + patch without warping. As it was, he just scraped, but so softly as not to + start the copper. + </p> + <p> + The harbour of Fuatino opened before him. It was a circular sheet of + water, five miles in diameter, rimmed with white coral beaches, from which + the verdure-clad slopes rose swiftly to the frowning crater walls. The + crests of the walls were saw-toothed, volcanic peaks, capped and halo'd + with captive trade-wind clouds. Every nook and crevice of the + disintegrating lava gave foothold to creeping, climbing vines and trees—a + green foam of vegetation. Thin streams of water, that were mere films of + mist, swayed and undulated downward in sheer descents of hundreds of feet. + And to complete the magic of the place, the warm, moist air was heavy with + the perfume of the yellow-blossomed <i>cassi</i>. + </p> + <p> + Fanning along against light, vagrant airs, the <i>Rattler</i> worked in. + Calling the whale-boat on board, Grief searched out the shore with his + binoculars. There was no life. In the hot blaze of tropic sun the place + slept. There was no sign of welcome. Up the beach, on the north shore, + where the fringe of cocoanut palms concealed the village, he could see the + black bows of the canoes in the canoe-houses. On the beach, on even keel, + rested the strange schooner. Nothing moved on board of her or around her. + Not until the beach lay fifty yards away did Grief let go the anchor in + forty fathoms. Out in the middle, long years before, he had sounded three + hundred fathoms without reaching bottom, which was to be expected of a + healthy crater-pit like Fuatino. As the chain roared and surged through + the hawse-pipe he noticed a number of native women, lusciously large as + only those of Polynesia are, in flowing <i>ahu's</i>, flower-crowned, + stream out on the deck of the schooner on the beach. Also, and what they + did not see, he saw from the galley the squat figure of a man steal + for'ard, drop to the sand, and dive into the green screen of bush. + </p> + <p> + While the sails were furled and gasketed, awnings stretched, and sheets + and tackles coiled harbour fashion, David Grief paced the deck and looked + vainly for a flutter of life elsewhere than on the strange schooner. Once, + beyond any doubt, he heard the distant crack of a rifle in the direction + of the Big Rock. There were no further shots, and he thought of it as some + hunter shooting a wild goat. + </p> + <p> + At the end of another hour Captain Glass, under a mountain of blankets, + had ceased shivering and was in the inferno of a profound sweat. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be all right in half an hour,” he said weakly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” Grief answered. “The place is dead, and I'm going ashore to + see Mataara and find out the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a tough bunch; keep your eyes open,” the captain warned him. “If + you're not back in an hour, send word off.” + </p> + <p> + Grief took the steering-sweep, and four of his Raiatea men bent to the + oars. As they landed on the beach he looked curiously at the women under + the schooner's awning. He waved his hand tentatively, and they, after + giggling, waved back. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Talofa!</i>” he called. + </p> + <p> + They understood the greeting, but replied, “<i>Iorana</i>,” and he knew + they came from the Society Group. + </p> + <p> + “Huahine,” one of his sailors unhesitatingly named their island. Grief + asked them whence they came, and with giggles and laughter they replied, + “Huahine.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks like old Dupuy's schooner,” Grief said, in Tahitian, speaking in + a low voice. “Don't look too hard. What do you think, eh? Isn't it the <i>Valetta?</i>” + </p> + <p> + As the men climbed out and lifted the whale-boat slightly up the beach + they stole careless glances at the vessel. + </p> + <p> + “It is the <i>Valetta</i>,” Taute said. “She carried her topmast away + seven years ago. At Papeete they rigged a new one. It was ten feet + shorter. That is the one.” + </p> + <p> + “Go over and talk with the women, you boys. You can almost see Huahine + from Raiatea, and you'll be sure to know some of them. Find out all you + can. And if any of the white men show up, don't start a row.” + </p> + <p> + An army of hermit crabs scuttled and rustled away before him as he + advanced up the beach, but under the palms no pigs rooted and grunted. The + cocoanuts lay where they had fallen, and at the copra-sheds there were no + signs of curing. Industry and tidiness had vanished. Grass house after + grass house he found deserted. Once he came upon an old man, blind, + toothless, prodigiously wrinkled, who sat in the shade and babbled with + fear when he spoke to him. It was as if the place had been struck with the + plague, was Grief's thought, as he finally approached the Big House. All + was desolation and disarray. There were no flower-crowned men and maidens, + no brown babies rolling in the shade of the avocado trees. In the doorway, + crouched and rocking back and forth, sat Mataara, the old queen. She wept + afresh at sight of him, divided between the tale of her woe and regret + that no follower was left to dispense to him her hospitality. + </p> + <p> + “And so they have taken Naumoo,” she finished. “Motauri is dead. My people + have fled and are starving with the goats. And there is no one to open for + you even a drinking cocoa-nut. O Brother, your white brothers be devils.” + </p> + <p> + “They are no brothers of mine, Mataara,” Grief consoled. “They are robbers + and pigs, and I shall clean the island of them——” + </p> + <p> + He broke off to whirl half around, his hand flashing to his waist and back + again, the big Colt's levelled at the figure of a man, bent double, that + rushed at him from out of the trees. He did not pull the trigger, nor did + the man pause till he had flung himself headlong at Grief's feet and begun + to pour forth a stream of uncouth and awful noises. He recognized the + creature as the one he had seen steal from the <i>Valetta</i> and dive + into the bush; but not until he raised him up and watched the contortions + of the hare-lipped mouth could he understand what he uttered. + </p> + <p> + “Save me, master, save me!” the man yammered, in English, though he was + unmistakably a South Sea native. “I know you! Save me!” + </p> + <p> + And thereat he broke into a wild outpour of incoherence that did not cease + until Grief seized him by the shoulders and shook him into silence. + </p> + <p> + “I know you,” Grief said. “You were cook in the French Hotel at Papeete + two years ago. Everybody called you 'Hare-Lip.'” + </p> + <p> + The man nodded violently. + </p> + <p> + “I am now cook of the <i>Valetta</i>,” he spat and spluttered, his mouth + writhing in a fearful struggle with its defect. “I know you. I saw you at + the hotel. I saw you at Lavina's. I saw you on the <i>Kittiwake</i>. I saw + you at the <i>Mariposa</i> wharf. You are Captain Grief, and you will save + me. Those men are devils. They killed Captain Dupuy. Me they made kill + half the crew. Two they shot from the cross-trees. The rest they shot in + the water. I knew them all. They stole the girls from Huahine. They added + to their strength with jail-men from Noumea. They robbed the traders in + the New Hebrides. They killed the trader at Vanikori, and stole two women + there. They——” + </p> + <p> + But Grief no longer heard. Through the trees, from the direction of the + harbour, came a rattle of rifles, and he started on the run for the beach. + Pirates from Tahiti and convicts from New Caledonia! A pretty bunch of + desperadoes that even now was attacking his schooner. Hare-Lip followed, + still spluttering and spitting his tale of the white devils' doings. + </p> + <p> + The rifle-firing ceased as abruptly as it had begun, but Grief ran on, + perplexed by ominous conjectures, until, in a turn of the path, he + encountered Mauriri running toward him from the beach. + </p> + <p> + “Big Brother,” the Goat Man panted, “I was too late. They have taken your + schooner. Come! For now they will seek for you.” + </p> + <p> + He started back up the path away from the beach. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Brown?” Grief demanded. + </p> + <p> + “On the Big Rock. I will tell you afterward. Come now!” + </p> + <p> + “But my men in the whaleboat?” + </p> + <p> + Mauriri was in an agony of apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “They are with the women on the strange schooner. They will not be killed. + I tell you true. The devils want sailors. But you they will kill. Listen!” + From the water, in a cracked tenor voice, came a French hunting song. + “They are landing on the beach. They have taken your schooner—that I + saw. Come!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Careless of his own life and skin, nevertheless David Grief was possessed + of no false hardihood. He knew when to fight and when to run, and that + this was the time for running he had no doubt. Up the path, past the old + men sitting in the shade, past Mataara crouched in the doorway of the Big + House, he followed at the heels of Mauriri. At his own heels, doglike, + plodded Hare-Lip. From behind came the cries of the hunters, but the pace + Mauriri led them was heartbreaking. The broad path narrowed, swung to the + right, and pitched upward. The last grass house was left, and through high + thickets of <i>cassi</i> and swarms of great golden wasps the way rose + steeply until it became a goat-track. Pointing upward to a bare shoulder + of volcanic rock, Mauriri indicated the trail across its face. + </p> + <p> + “Past that we are safe, Big Brother,” he said. “The white devils never + dare it, for there are rocks we roll down on their heads, and there is no + other path. Always do they stop here and shoot when we cross the rock. + Come!” + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later they paused where the trail went naked on the + face of the rock. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, and when you come, come quickly,” Mauriri cautioned. + </p> + <p> + He sprang into the blaze of sunlight, and from below several rifles pumped + rapidly. Bullets smacked about him, and puffs of stone-dust flew out, but + he won safely across. Grief followed, and so near did one bullet come that + the dust of its impact stung his cheek. Nor was Hare-Lip struck, though he + essayed the passage more slowly. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of the day, on the greater heights, they lay in a lava glen + where terraced taro and <i>papaia</i> grew. And here Grief made his plans + and learned the fulness of the situation. + </p> + <p> + “It was ill luck,” Mauriri said. “Of all nights this one night was + selected by the white devils to go fishing. It was dark as we came through + the passage. They were in boats and canoes. Always do they have their + rifles with them. One Raiatea man they shot. Brown was very brave. We + tried to get by to the top of the bay, but they headed us off, and we were + driven in between the Big Rock and the village. We saved the guns and all + the ammunition, but they got the boat. Thus they learned of your coming. + Brown is now on this side of the Big Rock with the guns and the + ammunition.” + </p> + <p> + “But why didn't he go over the top of the Big Rock and give me warning as + I came in from the sea?” Grief criticised. + </p> + <p> + “They knew not the way. Only the goats and I know the way. And this I + forgot, for I crept through the bush to gain the water and swim to you. + But the devils were in the bush shooting at Brown and the Raiatea men; and + me they hunted till daylight, and through the morning they hunted me there + in the low-lying land. Then you came in your schooner, and they watched + till you went ashore, and I got away through the bush, but you were + already ashore.” + </p> + <p> + “You fired that shot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; to warn you. But they were wise and would not shoot back, and it was + my last cartridge.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you, Hare-Lip?” Grief said to the <i>Valetta's</i> cook. + </p> + <p> + His tale was long and painfully detailed. For a year he had been sailing + out of Tahiti and through the Paumotus on the <i>Valetta</i>. Old Dupuy + was owner and captain. On his last cruise he had shipped two strangers in + Tahiti as mate and supercargo. Also, another stranger he carried to be his + agent on Fanriki. Raoul Van Asveld and Carl Lepsius were the names of the + mate and supercargo. + </p> + <p> + “They are brothers, I know, for I have heard them talk in the dark, on + deck, when they thought no one listened,” Hare-Lip explained. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Valetta</i> cruised through the Low Islands, picking up shell and + pearls at Dupuy's stations. Frans Amundson, the third stranger, relieved + Pierre Gollard at Fanriki. Pierre Gollard came on board to go back to + Tahiti. The natives of Fanriki said he had a quart of pearls to turn over + to Dupuy. The first night out from Fanriki there was shooting in the + cabin. Then the bodies of Dupuy and Pierre Gollard were thrown overboard. + The Tahitian sailors fled to the forecastle. For two days, with nothing to + eat and the <i>Valetta</i> hove to, they remained below. Then Raoul Van + Asveld put poison in the meal he made Hare-Lip cook and carry for'ard. + Half the sailors died. + </p> + <p> + “He had a rifle pointed at me, master; what could I do?” Hare-Lip + whimpered. “Of the rest, two went up the rigging and were shot. Fanriki + was ten miles away. The others went overboard to swim. They were shot as + they swam. I, only, lived, and the two devils; for me they wanted to cook + for them. That day, with the breeze, they went back to Fanrika and took on + Frans Amundson, for he was one of them.” + </p> + <p> + Then followed Hare-Lip's nightmare experiences as the schooner wandered on + the long reaches to the westward. He was the one living witness and knew + they would have killed him had he not been the cook. At Noumea five + convicts had joined them. Hare-Lip was never permitted ashore at any of + the islands, and Grief was the first outsider to whom he had spoken. + </p> + <p> + “And now they will kill me,” Hare-Lip spluttered, “for they will know I + have told you. Yet am I not all a coward, and I will stay with you, + master, and die with you.” + </p> + <p> + The Goat Man shook his head and stood up. + </p> + <p> + “Lie here and rest,” he said to Grief. “It will be a long swim to-night. + As for this cook-man, I will take him now to the higher places where my + brothers live with the goats.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + “It is well that you swim as a man should, Big Brother,” Mauriri + whispered. + </p> + <p> + From the lava glen they had descended to the head of the bay and taken to + the water. They swam softly, without splash, Mauriri in the lead. The + black walls of the crater rose about them till it seemed they swam on the + bottom of a great bowl. Above was the sky of faintly luminous star-dust. + Ahead they could see the light which marked the Rattler, and from her + deck, softened by distance, came a gospel hymn played on the phonograph + intended for Pilsach. + </p> + <p> + The two swimmers bore to the left, away from the captured schooner. + Laughter and song followed on board after the hymn, then the phonograph + started again. Grief grinned to himself at the appositeness of it as + “Lead, Kindly Light,” floated out over the dark water. + </p> + <p> + “We must take the passage and land on the Big Rock,” Mauriri whispered. + “The devils are holding the low land. Listen!” + </p> + <p> + Half a dozen rifle shots, at irregular intervals, attested that Brown + still held the Rock and that the pirates had invested the narrow + peninsula. + </p> + <p> + At the end of another hour they swam under the frowning loom of the Big + Rock. Mauriri, feeling his way, led the landing in a crevice, up which for + a hundred feet they climbed to a narrow ledge. + </p> + <p> + “Stay here,” said Mauriri. “I go to Brown. In the morning I shall return.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you, Brother,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + Mauriri laughed in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Even you, Big Brother, cannot do this thing. I am the Goat Man, and I + only, of all Fuatino, can go over the Big Rock in the night. Furthermore, + it will be the first time that even I have done it. Put out your hand. You + feel it? That is where Pilsach's dynamite is kept. Lie close beside the + wall and you may sleep without falling. I go now.” + </p> + <p> + And high above the sounding surf, on a narrow shelf beside a ton of + dynamite, David Grief planned his campaign, then rested his cheek on his + arm and slept. + </p> + <p> + In the morning, when Mauriri led him over the summit of the Big Rock, + David Grief understood why he could not have done it in the night. Despite + the accustomed nerve of a sailor for height and precarious clinging, he + marvelled that he was able to do it in the broad light of day. There were + places, always under minute direction of Mauriri, that he leaned forward, + falling, across hundred-foot-deep crevices, until his outstretched hands + struck a grip on the opposing wall and his legs could then be drawn across + after. Once, there was a ten-foot leap, above half a thousand feet of + yawning emptiness and down a fathom's length to a meagre foothold. And he, + despite his cool head, lost it another time on a shelf, a scant twelve + inches wide, where all hand-holds seemed to fail him. And Mauriri, seeing + him sway, swung his own body far out and over the gulf and passed him, at + the same time striking him sharply on the back to brace his reeling brain. + Then it was, and forever after, that he fully knew why Mauriri had been + named the Goat Man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + The defence of the Big Rock had its good points and its defects. + Impregnable to assault, two men could hold it against ten thousand. Also, + it guarded the passage to open sea. The two schooners, Raoul Van Asveld, + and his cutthroat following were bottled up. Grief, with the ton of + dynamite, which he had removed higher up the rock, was master. This he + demonstrated, one morning, when the schooners attempted to put to sea. The + <i>Valetta</i> led, the whaleboat towing her manned by captured Fuatino + men. Grief and the Goat Man peered straight down from a safe rock-shelter, + three hundred feet above. Their rifles were beside them, also a glowing + fire-stick and a big bundle of dynamite sticks with fuses and decanators + attached. As the whaleboat came beneath, Mauriri shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “They are our brothers. We cannot shoot.” + </p> + <p> + For'ard, on the <i>Valetta</i>, were several of Grief's own Raiatea + sailors. Aft stood another at the wheel. The pirates were below, or on the + other schooner, with the exception of one who stood, rifle in hand, + amidships. For protection he held Naumoo, the Queen's daughter, close to + him. + </p> + <p> + “That is the chief devil,” Mauriri whispered, “and his eyes are blue like + yours. He is a terrible man. See! He holds Naumoo that we may not shoot + him.” + </p> + <p> + A light air and a slight tide were making into the passage, and the + schooner's progress was slow. + </p> + <p> + “Do you speak English?” Grief called down. + </p> + <p> + The man startled, half lifted his rifle to the perpendicular, and looked + up. There was something quick and catlike in his movements, and in his + burned blond face a fighting eagerness. It was the face of a killer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered. “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “Turn back, or I'll blow your schooner up,” Grief warned. He blew on the + fire-stick and whispered, “Tell Naumoo to break away from him and run + aft.” + </p> + <p> + From the <i>Rattler</i>, close astern, rifles cracked, and bullets spatted + against the rock. Van Asveld laughed defiantly, and Mauriri called down in + the native tongue to the woman. When directly beneath, Grief, watching, + saw her jerk away from the man. On the instant Grief touched the + fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of the short fuse, sprang + into view on the face of the rock, and dropped the dynamite. Van Asveld + had managed to catch the girl and was struggling with her. The Goat Man + held a rifle on him and waited a chance. The dynamite struck the deck in a + compact package, bounded, and rolled into the port scupper. Van Asveld saw + it and hesitated, then he and the girl ran aft for their lives. The Goat + Man fired, but splintered the corner of the galley. The spattering of + bullets from the <i>Rattler</i> increased, and the two on the rock + crouched low for shelter and waited. Mauriri tried to see what was + happening below, but Grief held him back. + </p> + <p> + “The fuse was too long,” he said. “I'll know better next time.” + </p> + <p> + It was half a minute before the explosion came. What happened afterward, + for some little time, they could not tell, for the Rattler's marksmen had + got the range and were maintaining a steady fire. Once, fanned by a couple + of bullets, Grief risked a peep. The <i>Valetta</i>, her port deck and + rail torn away, was listing and sinking as she drifted back into the + harbour. Climbing on board the <i>Rattler</i> were the men and the Huahine + women who had been hidden in the <i>Valetta's</i> cabin and who had swum + for it under the protecting fire. The Fuatino men who had been towing in + the whaleboat had cast off the line, dashed back through the passage, and + were rowing wildly for the south shore. + </p> + <p> + From the shore of the peninsula the discharges of four rifles announced + that Brown and his men had worked through the jungle to the beach and were + taking a hand. The bullets ceased coming, and Grief and Mauriri joined in + with their rifles. But they could do no damage, for the men of the <i>Rattler</i> + were firing from the shelter of the deck-houses, while the wind and tide + carried the schooner farther in. + </p> + <p> + There was no sign of the <i>Valetta</i>, which had sunk in the deep water + of the crater. + </p> + <p> + Two things Raoul Van Asveld did that showed his keenness and coolness and + that elicited Grief's admiration. Under the <i>Rattler's</i> rifle fire + Raoul compelled the fleeing Fuatino men to come in and surrender. And at + the same time, dispatching half his cutthroats in the <i>Rattler's</i> + boat, he threw them ashore and across the peninsula, preventing Brown from + getting away to the main part of the island. And for the rest of the + morning the intermittent shooting told to Grief how Brown was being driven + in to the other side of the Big Rock. The situation was unchanged, with + the exception of the loss of the <i>Valetta</i>. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The defects of the position on the Big Rock were vital. There was neither + food nor water. For several nights, accompanied by one of the Raiatea men, + Mauriri swam to the head of the bay for supplies. Then came the night when + lights flared on the water and shots were fired. After that the water-side + of the Big Rock was invested as well. + </p> + <p> + “It's a funny situation,” Brown remarked, who was getting all the + adventure he had been led to believe resided in the South Seas. “We've got + hold and can't let go, and Raoul has hold and can't let go. He can't get + away, and we're liable to starve to death holding him.” + </p> + <p> + “If the rain came, the rock-basins would fill,” said Mauriri. It was their + first twenty-four hours without water. “Big Brother, to-night you and I + will get water. It is the work of strong men.” + </p> + <p> + That night, with cocoanut calabashes, each of quart capacity and tightly + stoppered, he led Grief down to the water from the peninsula side of the + Big Rock. They swam out not more than a hundred feet. Beyond, they could + hear the occasional click of an oar or the knock of a paddle against a + canoe, and sometimes they saw the flare of matches as the men in the + guarding boats lighted cigarettes or pipes. + </p> + <p> + “Wait here,” whispered Mauriri, “and hold the calabashes.” + </p> + <p> + Turning over, he swam down. Grief, face downward, watched his + phosphorescent track glimmer, and dim, and vanish. A long minute afterward + Mauriri broke surface noiselessly at Grief's side. + </p> + <p> + “Here! Drink!” + </p> + <p> + The calabash was full, and Grief drank sweet fresh water which had come up + from the depths of the salt. + </p> + <p> + “It flows out from the land,” said Mauriri. + </p> + <p> + “On the bottom?” + </p> + <p> + “No. The bottom is as far below as the mountains are above. Fifty feet + down it flows. Swim down until you feel its coolness.” + </p> + <p> + Several times filling and emptying his lungs in diver fashion, Grief + turned over and went down through the water. Salt it was to his lips, and + warm to his flesh; but at last, deep down, it perceptibly chilled and + tasted brackish. Then, suddenly, his body entered the cold, subterranean + stream. He removed the small stopper from the calabash, and, as the sweet + water gurgled into it, he saw the phosphorescent glimmer of a big fish, + like a sea ghost, drift sluggishly by. + </p> + <p> + Thereafter, holding the growing weight of the calabashes, he remained on + the surface, while Mauriri took them down, one by one, and filled them. + </p> + <p> + “There are sharks,” Grief said, as they swam back to shore. + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” was the answer. “They are fish sharks. We of Fuatino are brothers + to the fish sharks.” + </p> + <p> + “But the tiger sharks? I have seen them here.” + </p> + <p> + “When they come, Big Brother, we will have no more water to drink—unless + it rains.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + A week later Mauriri and a Raiatea man swam back with empty calabashes. + The tiger sharks had arrived in the harbour. The next day they thirsted on + the Big Rock. + </p> + <p> + “We must take our chance,” said Grief. “Tonight I shall go after water + with Mautau. Tomorrow night, Brother, you will go with Tehaa.” + </p> + <p> + Three quarts only did Grief get, when the tiger sharks appeared and drove + them in. There were six of them on the Rock, and a pint a day, in the + sweltering heat of the mid-tropics, is not sufficient moisture for a man's + body. The next night Mauriri and Tehaa returned with no water. And the day + following Brown learned the full connotation of thirst, when the lips + crack to bleeding, the mouth is coated with granular slime, and the + swollen tongue finds the mouth too small for residence. + </p> + <p> + Grief swam out in the darkness with Mautau. Turn by turn, they went down + through the salt, to the cool sweet stream, drinking their fill while the + calabashes were filling. It was Mau-tau's turn to descend with the last + calabash, and Grief, peering down from the surface, saw the glimmer of + sea-ghosts and all the phosphorescent display of the struggle. He swam + back alone, but without relinquishing the precious burden of full + calabashes. + </p> + <p> + Of food they had little. Nothing grew on the Rock, and its sides, covered + with shellfish at sea level where the surf thundered in, were too + precipitous for access. Here and there, where crevices permitted, a few + rank shellfish and sea urchins were gleaned. Sometimes frigate birds and + other sea birds were snared. Once, with a piece of frigate bird, they + succeeded in hooking a shark. After that, with jealously guarded + shark-meat for bait, they managed on occasion to catch more sharks. + </p> + <p> + But water remained their direst need. Mauriri prayed to the Goat God for + rain. Taute prayed to the Missionary God, and his two fellow islanders, + backsliding, invoked the deities of their old heathen days. Grief grinned + and considered. But Brown, wild-eyed, with protruding blackened tongue, + cursed. Especially he cursed the phonograph that in the cool twilights + ground out gospel hymns from the deck of the <i>Rattler</i>. One hymn in + particular, “Beyond the Smiling and the Weeping,” drove him to madness. It + seemed a favourite on board the schooner, for it was played most of all. + Brown, hungry and thirsty, half out of his head from weakness and + suffering, could lie among the rocks with equanimity and listen to the + tinkling of ukuleles and guitars, and the hulas and himines of the Huahine + women. But when the voices of the Trinity Choir floated over the water he + was beside himself. One evening the cracked tenor took up the song with + the machine: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Beyond the smiling and the weeping, + I shall be soon. + Beyond the waking and the sleeping, + Beyond the sowing and the reaping, + I shall be soon, + I shall be soon.” + </pre> + <p> + Then it was that Brown rose up. Again and again, blindly, he emptied his + rifle at the schooner. Laughter floated up from the men and women, and + from the peninsula came a splattering of return bullets; but the cracked + tenor sang on, and Brown continued to fire, until the hymn was played out. + </p> + <p> + It was that night that Grief and Mauriri came back with but one calabash + of water. A patch of skin six inches long was missing from Grief's + shoulder in token of the scrape of the sandpaper hide of a shark whose + dash he had eluded. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + In the early morning of another day, before the sun-blaze had gained its + full strength, came an offer of a parley from Raoul Van Asveld. + </p> + <p> + Brown brought the word in from the outpost among the rocks a hundred yards + away. Grief was squatted over a small fire, broiling a strip of + shark-flesh. The last twenty-four hours had been lucky. Seaweed and sea + urchins had been gathered. Tehaa had caught a shark, and Mauriri had + captured a fair-sized octopus at the base of the crevice where the + dynamite was stored. Then, too, in the darkness they had made two + successful swims for water before the tiger sharks had nosed them out. + </p> + <p> + “Said he'd like to come in and talk with you,” Brown said. “But I know + what the brute is after. Wants to see how near starved to death we are.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring him in,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + “And then we will kill him,” the Goat Man cried joyously. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “But he is a killer of men, Big Brother, a beast and a devil,” the Goat + Man protested. + </p> + <p> + “He must not be killed, Brother. It is our way not to break our word.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a foolish way.” + </p> + <p> + “Still it is our way,” Grief answered gravely, turning the strip of + shark-meat over on the coals and noting the hungry sniff and look of + Tehaa. “Don't do that, Tehaa, when the Big Devil comes. Look as if you and + hunger were strangers. Here, cook those sea urchins, you, and you, Big + Brother, cook the squid. We will have the Big Devil to feast with us. + Spare nothing. Cook all.” + </p> + <p> + And, still broiling meat, Grief arose as Raoul Van Asveld, followed by a + large Irish terrier, strode into camp. Raoul did not make the mistake of + holding out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he said. “I've heard of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I'd never heard of you,” Grief answered. + </p> + <p> + “Same here,” was the response. “At first, before I knew who it was, I + thought I had to deal with an ordinary trading captain. That's why you've + got me bottled up.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am ashamed to say that I underrated you,” Grief smiled. “I took you + for a thieving beachcomber, and not for a really intelligent pirate and + murderer. Hence, the loss of my schooner. Honours are even, I fancy, on + that score.” + </p> + <p> + Raoul flushed angrily under his sunburn, but he contained himself. His + eyes roved over the supply of food and the full water-calabashes, though + he concealed the incredulous surprise he felt. His was a tall, slender, + well-knit figure, and Grief, studying him, estimated his character from + his face. The eyes were keen and strong, but a bit too close together—not + pinched, however, but just a trifle near to balance the broad forehead, + the strong chin and jaw, and the cheekbones wide apart. Strength! His face + was filled with it, and yet Grief sensed in it the intangible something + the man lacked. + </p> + <p> + “We are both strong men,” Raoul said, with a bow. “We might have been + fighting for empires a hundred years ago.” + </p> + <p> + It was Grief's turn to bow. + </p> + <p> + “As it is, we are squalidly scrapping over the enforcement of the colonial + laws of those empires whose destinies we might possibly have determined a + hundred years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “It all comes to dust,” Raoul remarked sen-tentiously, sitting down. “Go + ahead with your meal. Don't let me interrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't you join us?” was Grief's invitation. + </p> + <p> + The other looked at him with sharp steadiness, then accepted. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sticky with sweat,” he said. “Can I wash?” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded and ordered Mauriri to bring a calabash. Raoul looked into + the Goat Man's eyes, but saw nothing save languid uninterest as the + precious quart of water was wasted on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “The dog is thirsty,” Raoul said. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded, and another calabash was presented to the animal. + </p> + <p> + Again Raoul searched the eyes of the natives and learned nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry we have no coffee,” Grief apologized. “You'll have to drink plain + water. A calabash, Tehaa. Try some of this shark. There is squid to + follow, and sea urchins and a seaweed salad. I'm sorry we haven't any + frigate bird. The boys were lazy yesterday, and did not try to catch any.” + </p> + <p> + With an appetite that would not have stopped at wire nails dipped in lard, + Grief ate perfunctorily, and tossed the scraps to the dog. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I haven't got down to the primitive diet yet,” he sighed, as + he sat back. “The tinned goods on the <i>Rattler</i>, now I could make a + hearty meal off of them, but this muck——” He took a half-pound + strip of broiled shark and flung it to the dog. “I suppose I'll come to it + if you don't surrender pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + Raoul laughed unpleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “I came to offer terms,” he said pointedly. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “There aren't any terms. I've got you where the hair is short, and I'm not + going to let go.” + </p> + <p> + “You think you can hold me in this hole!” Raoul cried. + </p> + <p> + “You'll never leave it alive, except in double irons.” Grief surveyed his + guest with an air of consideration. “I've handled your kind before. We've + pretty well cleaned it out of the South Seas. But you are a—how + shall I say?—a sort of an anachronism. You're a throwback, and we've + got to get rid of you. Personally, I would advise you to go back to the + schooner and blow your brains out. It is the only way to escape what + you've got coming to you.” + </p> + <p> + The parley, so far as Raoul was concerned, proved fruitless, and he went + back into his own lines convinced that the men on the Big Rock could hold + out for years, though he would have been swiftly unconvinced could he have + observed Tehaa and the Raiateans, the moment his back was turned and he + was out of sight, crawling over the rocks and sucking and crunching the + scraps his dog had left uneaten. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + “We hunger now, Brother,” Grief said, “but it is better than to hunger for + many days to come. The Big Devil, after feasting and drinking good water + with us in plenty, will not stay long in Fuatino. Even to-morrow may he + try to leave. To-night you and I sleep over the top of the Rock, and + Tehaa, who shoots well, will sleep with us if he can dare the Rock.” + </p> + <p> + Tehaa, alone among the Raiateans, was cragsman enough to venture the + perilous way, and dawn found him in a rock-barricaded nook, a hundred + yards to the right of Grief and Mauriri. + </p> + <p> + The first warning was the firing of rifles from the peninsula, where Brown + and his two Raiateans signalled the retreat and followed the besiegers + through the jungle to the beach. From the eyrie on the face of the rock + Grief could see nothing for another hour, when the <i>Rattler</i> + appeared, making for the passage. As before, the captive Fuatino men towed + in the whaleboat. Mauriri, under direction of Grief, called down + instructions to them as they passed slowly beneath. By Grief's side lay + several bundles of dynamite sticks, well-lashed together and with + extremely short fuses. + </p> + <p> + The deck of the <i>Rattler</i> was populous. For'ard, rifle in hand, among + the Raiatean sailors, stood a desperado whom Mauriri announced was Raoul's + brother. Aft, by the helmsman, stood another. Attached to him, tied waist + to waist, with slack, was Mataara, the old Queen. On the other side of the + helmsman, his arm in a sling, was Captain Glass. Amidships, as before, was + Raoul, and with him, lashed waist to waist, was Naumoo. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mister David Grief,” Raoul called up. + </p> + <p> + “And yet I warned you that only in double irons would you leave the + island,” Grief murmured down with a sad inflection. + </p> + <p> + “You can't kill all your people I have on board,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + The schooner, moving slowly, jerk by jerk, as the men pulled in the + whaleboat, was almost directly beneath. The rowers, without ceasing, + slacked on their oars, and were immediately threatened with the rifle of + the man who stood for'ard. + </p> + <p> + “Throw, Big Brother!” Naumoo called up in the Fuatino tongue. “I am filled + with sorrow and am willed to die. His knife is ready with which to cut the + rope, but I shall hold him tight. Be not afraid, Big Brother. Throw, and + throw straight, and good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Grief hesitated, then lowered the fire-stick which he had been blowing + bright. + </p> + <p> + “Throw!” the Goat Man urged. + </p> + <p> + Still Grief hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “If they get to sea, Big Brother, Naumoo dies just the same. And there are + all the others. What is her life against the many?” + </p> + <p> + “If you drop any dynamite, or fire a single shot, we'll kill all on + board,” Raoul cried up to them. “I've got you, David Grief. You can't kill + these people, and I can. Shut up, you!” + </p> + <p> + This last was addressed to Naumoo, who was calling up in her native tongue + and whom Raoul seized by the neck with one hand to choke to silence. In + turn, she locked both arms about him and looked up beseechingly to Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Throw it, Mr. Grief, and be damned to them,” Captain Glass rumbled in his + deep voice. “They're bloody murderers, and the cabin's full of them.” + </p> + <p> + The desperado who was fastened to the old Queen swung half about to menace + Captain Glass with his rifle, when Tehaa, from his position farther along + the Rock, pulled trigger on him. The rifle dropped from the man's hand, + and on his face was an expression of intense surprise as his legs crumpled + under him and he sank down on deck, dragging the Queen with him. + </p> + <p> + “Port! Hard a port!” Grief cried. + </p> + <p> + Captain Glass and the Kanaka whirled the wheel over, and the bow of the <i>Rattler</i> + headed in for the Rock. Amidships Raoul still struggled with Naumoo. His + brother ran from for'ard to his aid, being missed by the fusillade of + quick shots from Tehaa and the Goat Man. As Raoul's brother placed the + muzzle of his rifle to Naumoo's side Grief touched the fire-stick to the + match-head in the split end of the fuse. Even as with both hands he tossed + the big bundle of dynamite, the rifle went off, and Naumoo's fall to the + deck was simultaneous with the fall of the dynamite. This time the fuse + was short enough. The explosion occurred at the instant the deck was + reached, and that portion of the <i>Rattler</i>, along with Raoul, his + brother, and Naumoo, forever disappeared. + </p> + <p> + The schooner's side was shattered, and she began immediately to settle. + For'ard, every Raiatean sailor dived overboard. Captain Glass met the + first man springing up the com-panionway from the cabin, with a kick full + in the face, but was overborne and trampled on by the rush. Following the + desperadoes came the Huahine women, and as they went overboard, the <i>Rattler</i> + sank on an even keel close to the base of the Rock. Her cross-trees still + stuck out when she reached bottom. + </p> + <p> + Looking down, Grief could see all that occurred beneath the surface. He + saw Mataara, a fathom deep, unfasten herself from the dead pirate and swim + upward. As her head emerged she saw Captain Glass, who could not swim, + sinking several yards away. The Queen, old woman that she was, but an + islander, turned over, swam down to him, and held him up as she struck out + for the unsubmerged cross-trees. + </p> + <p> + Five heads, blond and brown, were mingled with the dark heads of Polynesia + that dotted the surface. Grief, rifle in hand, watched for a chance to + shoot. The Goat Man, after a minute, was successful, and they saw the body + of one man sink sluggishly. But to the Raiatean sailors, big and brawny, + half fish, was the vengeance given. Swimming swiftly, they singled out the + blond heads and the brown. Those from above watched the four surviving + desperadoes, clutched and locked, dragged far down beneath and drowned + like curs. + </p> + <p> + In ten minutes everything was over. The Huahine women, laughing and + giggling, were holding on to the sides of the whaleboat which had done the + towing. The Raiatean sailors, waiting for orders, were about the + cross-tree to which Captain Glass and Mataara clung. + </p> + <p> + “The poor old <i>Rattler</i>,” Captain Glass lamented. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort,” Grief answered. “In a week we'll have her raised, + new timbers amidships, and we'll be on our way.” And to the Queen, “How is + it with you, Sister?” + </p> + <p> + “Naumoo is gone, and Motauri, Brother, but Fuatino is ours again. The day + is young. Word shall be sent to all my people in the high places with the + goats. And to-night, once again, and as never before, we shall feast and + rejoice in the Big House.” + </p> + <p> + “She's been needing new timbers abaft the beam there for years,” quoth + Captain Glass. “But the chronometers will be out of commission for the + rest of the cruise.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Four—THE JOKERS OF NEW GIBBON + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + “I'm almost afraid to take you in to New Gibbon,” David Grief said. “It + wasn't until you and the British gave me a free hand and let the place + alone that any results were accomplished.” + </p> + <p> + Wallenstein, the German Resident Commissioner from Bougainville, poured + himself a long Scotch and soda and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “We take off our hats to you, Mr. Grief,” he said in perfectly good + English. “What you have done on the devil island is a miracle. And we + shall continue not to interfere. It <i>is</i> a devil island, and old Koho + is the big chief devil of them all. We never could bring him to terms. He + is a liar, and he is no fool. He is a black Napoleon, a head-hunting, + man-eating Talleyrand. I remember six years ago, when I landed there in + the British cruiser. The niggers cleared out for the bush, of course, but + we found several who couldn't get away. One was his latest wife. She had + been hung up by one arm in the sun for two days and nights. We cut her + down, but she died just the same. And staked out in the fresh running + water, up to their necks, were three more women. All their bones were + broken and their joints crushed. The process is supposed to make them + tender for the eating. They were still alive. Their vitality was + remarkable. One woman, the oldest, lingered nearly ten days. Well, that + was a sample of Koho's diet. No wonder he's a wild beast. How you ever + pacified him is our everlasting puzzlement.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't call him exactly pacified,” Grief answered. “Though he comes + in once in a while and eats out of the hand.” + </p> + <p> + “That's more than we accomplished with our cruisers. Neither the German + nor the English ever laid eyes on him. You were the first.” + </p> + <p> + “No; McTavish was the first,” Grief disclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, I remember him—the little, dried-up Scotchman.” + Wallenstein sipped his whiskey. “He's called the Trouble-mender, isn't + he?” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And they say the screw you pay him is bigger than mine or the British + Resident's?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it is,” Grief admitted. “You see, and no offence, he's really + worth it. He spends his time wherever the trouble is. He is a wizard. He's + the one who got me my lodgment on New Gibbon. He's down on Malaita now, + starting a plantation for me.” + </p> + <p> + “The first?” + </p> + <p> + “There's not even a trading station on all Malaita. The recruiters still + use covering boats and carry the old barbed wire above their rails. + There's the plantation now. We'll be in in half an hour.” He handed the + binoculars to his guest. “Those are the boat-sheds to the left of the + bungalow. Beyond are the barracks. And to the right are the copra-sheds. + We dry quite a bit already. Old Koho's getting civilized enough to make + his people bring in the nuts. There's the mouth of the stream where you + found the three women softening.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Wonder</i>, wing-and-wing, was headed directly in for the + anchorage. She rose and fell lazily over a glassy swell flawed here and + there by catspaws from astern. It was the tail-end of the monsoon season, + and the air was heavy and sticky with tropic moisture, the sky a florid, + leaden muss of formless clouds. The rugged land was swathed with + cloud-banks and squall wreaths, through which headlands and interior peaks + thrust darkly. On one promontory a slant of sunshine blazed torridly, on + another, scarcely a mile away, a squall was bursting in furious downpour + of driving rain. + </p> + <p> + This was the dank, fat, savage island of New Gibbon, lying fifty miles to + leeward of Choiseul. Geographically, it belonged to the Solomon Group. + Politically, the dividing line of German and British influence cut it in + half, hence the joint control by the two Resident Commissioners. In the + case of New Gibbon, this control existed only on paper in the colonial + offices of the two countries. There was no real control at all, and never + had been. The bêche de mer fishermen of the old days had passed it by. The + sandalwood traders, after stern experiences, had given it up. The + blackbirders had never succeeded in recruiting one labourer on the island, + and, after the schooner <i>Dorset</i> had been cut off with all hands, + they left the place severely alone. Later, a German company had attempted + a cocoanut plantation, which was abandoned after several managers and a + number of contract labourers had lost their heads. German cruisers and + British cruisers had failed to get the savage blacks to listen to reason. + Four times the missionary societies had essayed the peaceful conquest of + the island, and four times, between sickness and massacre, they had been + driven away, More cruisers, more pacifications, had followed, and followed + fruitlessly. The cannibals had always retreated into the bush and laughed + at the screaming shells. When the warships left it was an easy matter to + rebuild the burned grass houses and set up the ovens in the old-fashioned + way. + </p> + <p> + New Gibbon was a large island, fully one hundred and fifty miles long and + half as broad. + </p> + <p> + Its windward coast was iron-bound, without anchorages or inlets, and it + was inhabited by scores of warring tribes—at least it had been, + until Koho had arisen, like a Kamehameha, and, by force of arms and + considerable statecraft, firmly welded the greater portion of the tribes + into a confederation. His policy of permitting no intercourse with white + men had been eminently right, so far as survival of his own people was + concerned; and after the visit of the last cruiser he had had his own way + until David Grief and McTavish the Trouble-mender landed on the deserted + beach where once had stood the German bungalow and barracks and the + various English mission-houses. + </p> + <p> + Followed wars, false peaces, and more wars. The weazened little Scotchman + could make trouble as well as mend it, and, not content with holding the + beach, he imported bushmen from Malaita and invaded the wild-pig runs of + the interior jungle. He burned villages until Koho wearied of rebuilding + them, and when he captured Koho's eldest son he compelled a conference + with the old chief. It was then that McTavish laid down the rate of + head-exchange. For each head of his own people he promised to take ten of + Koho's. After Koho had learned that the Scotchman was a man of his word, + the first true peace was made. In the meantime McTavish had built the + bungalow and barracks, cleared the jungle-land along the beach, and laid + out the plantation. After that he had gone on his way to mend trouble on + the atoll of Tasman, where a plague of black measles had broken out and + been ascribed to Grief's plantation by the devil-devil doctors. Once, a + year later, he had been called back again to straighten up New Gibbon; and + Koho, after paying a forced fine of two hundred thousand cocoanuts, + decided it was cheaper to keep the peace and sell the nuts. Also, the + fires of his youth had burned down. He was getting old and limped of one + leg where a Lee-Enfield bullet had perforated the calf. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + “I knew a chap in Hawaii,” Grief said, “superintendent of a sugar + plantation, who used a hammer and a ten-penny nail.” + </p> + <p> + They were sitting on the broad bungalow veranda, and watching Worth, the + manager of New Gibbon, doctoring the sick squad. They were New Georgia + boys, a dozen of them, and the one with the aching tooth had been put back + to the last. Worth had just failed in his first attempt. He wiped the + sweat from his forehead with one hand and waved the forceps with the + other. + </p> + <p> + “And broke more than one jaw,” he asserted grimly. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. Wallenstein smiled and elevated his brows. + </p> + <p> + “He said not, at any rate,” Grief qualified. “He assured me, furthermore, + that he always succeeded on the first trial.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw it done when I was second mate on a lime-juicer,” Captain Ward + spoke up. “The old man used a caulking mallet and a steel marlin-spike. He + took the tooth out with the first stroke, too, clean as a whistle.” + </p> + <p> + “Me for the forceps,” Worth muttered grimly, inserting his own pair in the + mouth of the black. As he pulled, the man groaned and rose in the air. + “Lend a hand, somebody, and hold him down,” the manager appealed. + </p> + <p> + Grief and Wallenstein, on either side, gripped the black and held him. And + he, in turn, struggled against them and clenched his teeth on the forceps. + The group swayed back and forth. Such exertion, in the stagnant heat, + brought the sweat out on all of them. The black sweated, too, but his was + the sweat of excruciating pain. The chair on which he sat was overturned. + Captain Ward paused in the act of pouring himself a drink, and called + encouragement. Worth pleaded with his assistants to hang on, and hung on + himself, twisting the tooth till it crackled and then attempting a + straightaway pull. + </p> + <p> + Nor did any of them notice the little black man who limped up the steps + and stood looking on. Koho was a conservative. His fathers before him had + worn no clothes, and neither did he, not even a gee-string. The many empty + perforations in nose and lips and ears told of decorative passions long + since dead. The holes on both ear-lobes had been torn out, but their size + was attested by the strips of withered flesh that hung down and swept his + shoulders. He cared now only for utility, and in one of the half dozen + minor holes in his right ear he carried a short clay pipe. Around his + waist was buckled a cheap trade-belt, and between the imitation leather + and the naked skin was thrust the naked blade of a long knife. Suspended + from the belt was his bamboo betel-nut and lime box. In his hand was a + short-barrelled, large-bore Snider rifle. He was indescribably filthy, and + here and there marred by scars, the worst being the one left by the + Lee-Enfield bullet, which had withered the calf to half the size of its + mate. His shrunken mouth showed that few teeth were left to serve him. + Face and body were shrunken and withered, but his black, bead-like eyes, + small and close together, were very bright, withal they were restless and + querulous, and more like a monkey's than a man's. + </p> + <p> + He looked on, grinning like a shrewd little ape. His joy in the torment of + the patient was natural, for the world he lived in was a world of pain. He + had endured his share of it, and inflicted far more than his share on + others. When the tooth parted from its locked hold in the jaw and the + forceps raked across the other teeth and out of the mouth with a + nerve-rasping sound, old Koho's eyes fairly sparkled, and he looked with + glee at the poor black, collapsed on the veranda floor and groaning + terribly as he held his head in both his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I think he's going to faint,” Grief said, bending over the victim. + “Captain Ward, give him a drink, please. You'd better take one yourself, + Worth; you're shaking like a leaf.” + </p> + <p> + “And I think I'll take one,” said Wallenstein, wiping the sweat from his + face. His eye caught the shadow of Koho on the floor and followed it up to + the old chief himself. “Hello! who's this?” + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Koho!” Grief said genially, though he knew better than to offer to + shake hands. + </p> + <p> + It was one of Koho's <i>tambos</i>, given him by the devil-devil doctors + when he was born, that never was his flesh to come in contact with the + flesh of a white man. Worth and Captain Ward, of the <i>Wonder</i>, + greeted Koho, but Worth frowned at sight of the Snider, for it was one of + his <i>tambos</i> that no visiting bushman should carry a weapon on the + plantation. Rifles had a nasty way of going off at the hip under such + circumstances. The manager clapped his hands, and a black house-boy, + recruited from San Cristobal, came running. At a sign from Worth, he took + the rifle from the visitor's hand and carried it inside the bungalow. + </p> + <p> + “Koho,” Grief said, introducing the German Resident, “this big fella + marster belong Bougainville—my word, big fella marster too much.” + </p> + <p> + Koho, remembering the visits of the various German cruisers, smiled with a + light of unpleasant reminiscence in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Don't shake hands with him, Wallenstein,” Grief warned. “<i>Tambo</i>, + you know.” Then to Koho, “My word, you get 'm too much fat stop along you. + Bime by you marry along new fella Mary, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Too old fella me,” Koho answered, with a weary shake of the head. “Me no + like 'm Mary. Me no like 'm <i>kai-kai</i> (food). Close up me die along + altogether.” He stole a significant glance at Worth, whose head was tilted + back to a long glass. “Me like 'm rum.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Tambo</i> along black fella.” + </p> + <p> + “He black fella no tambo,” Koho retorted, nodding toward the groaning + labourer. + </p> + <p> + “He fella sick,” Grief explained. + </p> + <p> + “Me fella sick.” + </p> + <p> + “You fella big liar,” Grief laughed. “Rum tambo, all the time tambo. Now, + Koho, we have big fella talk along this big fella mar-ster.” + </p> + <p> + And he and Wallenstein and the old chief sat down on the veranda to confer + about affairs of state. Koho was complimented on the peace he had kept, + and he, with many protestations of his aged decrepitude, swore peace again + and everlasting. Then was discussed the matter of starting a German + plantation twenty miles down the coast. The land, of course, was to be + bought from Koho, and the price was arranged in terms of tobacco, knives, + beads, pipes, hatchets, porpoise teeth and shell-money—in terms of + everything except rum. While the talk went on, Koho, glancing through the + window, could see Worth mixing medicines and placing bottles back in the + medicine cupboard. Also, he saw the manager complete his labours by taking + a drink of Scotch. Koho noted the bottle carefully. And, though he hung + about for an hour after the conference was over, there was never a moment + when some one or another was not in the room. When Grief and Worth sat + down to a business talk, Koho gave it up. + </p> + <p> + “Me go along schooner,” he announced, then turned and limped out. + </p> + <p> + “How are the mighty fallen,” Grief laughed. “To think that used to be + Koho, the fiercest red-handed murderer in the Solomons, who defied all his + life two of the greatest world powers. And now he's going aboard to try + and cadge Denby for a drink.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + For the last time in his life the supercargo of the <i>Wonder</i> + perpetrated a practical joke on a native. He was in the main cabin, + checking off the list of goods being landed in the whaleboats, when Koho + limped down the com-panionway and took a seat opposite him at the table. + </p> + <p> + “Close up me die along altogether,” was the burden of the old chief's + plaint. All the delights of the flesh had forsaken him. “Me no like 'm + Mary. Me no like 'm <i>kai-kai</i>. Me too much sick fella. Me close up + finish.” A long, sad pause, in which his face expressed unutterable + concern for his stomach, which he patted gingerly and with an assumption + of pain. “Belly belong me too much sick.” Another pause, which was an + invitation to Denby to make suggestions. Then followed a long, weary, + final sigh, and a “Me like 'm rum.” + </p> + <p> + Denby laughed heartlessly. He had been cadged for drinks before by the old + cannibal, and the sternest <i>tambo</i> Grief and McTavish had laid down + was the one forbidding alcohol to the natives of New Gibbon. + </p> + <p> + The trouble was that Koho had acquired the taste. In his younger days he + had learned the delights of drunkenness when he cut off the schooner <i>Dorset</i>, + but unfortunately he had learned it along with all his tribesmen, and the + supply had not held out long. Later, when he led his naked warriors down + to the destruction of the German plantation, he was wiser, and he + appropriated all the liquors for his sole use. The result had been a + gorgeous mixed drunk, on a dozen different sorts of drink, ranging from + beer doctored with quinine to absinthe and apricot brandy. The drunk had + lasted for months, and it had left him with a thirst that would remain + with him until he died. Predisposed toward alcohol, after the way of + savages, all the chemistry of his flesh clamoured for it. This craving was + to him expressed in terms of tingling and sensation, of maggots crawling + warmly and deliciously in his brain, of good feeling, and well being, and + high exultation. And in his barren old age, when women and feasting were a + weariness, and when old hates had smouldered down, he desired more and + more the revivifying fire that came liquid out of bottles—out of all + sorts of bottles—for he remembered them well. He would sit in the + sun for hours, occasionally drooling, in mournful contemplation of the + great orgy which had been his when the German plantation was cleaned out. + </p> + <p> + Denby was sympathetic. He sought out the old chief's symptoms and offered + him dyspeptic tablets from the medicine chest, pills, and a varied + assortment of harmless tabloids and capsules. But Koho steadfastly + declined. Once, when he cut the <i>Dorset</i> off, he had bitten through a + capsule of quinine; in addition, two of his warriors had partaken of a + white powder and laid down and died very violently in a very short time. + No; he did not believe in drugs. But the liquids from bottles, the + cool-flaming youth-givers and warm-glowing dream-makers. No wonder the + white men valued them so highly and refused to dispense them. + </p> + <p> + “Rum he good fella,” he repeated over and over, plaintively and with the + weary patience of age. + </p> + <p> + And then Denby made his mistake and played his joke. Stepping around + behind Koho, he unlocked the medicine closet and took out a four-ounce + bottle labelled <i>essence of mustard</i>. As he made believe to draw the + cork and drink of the contents, in the mirror on the for'ard bulkhead he + glimpsed Koho, twisted half around, intently watching him. Denby smacked + his lips and cleared his throat appreciatively as he replaced the bottle. + Neglecting to relock the medicine closet, he returned to his chair, and, + after a decent interval, went on deck. He stood beside the companionway + and listened. After several moments the silence below was broken by a + fearful, wheezing, propulsive, strangling cough. He smiled to himself and + returned leisurely down the companionway. The bottle was back on the shelf + where it belonged, and the old man sat in the same position. Denby + marvelled at his iron control. Mouth and lips and tongue, and all + sensitive membranes, were a blaze of fire. He gasped and nearly coughed + several times, while involuntary tears brimmed in his eyes and ran down + his cheeks. An ordinary man would have coughed and strangled for half an + hour. But old Koho's face was grimly composed. It dawned on him that a + trick had been played, and into his eyes came an expression of hatred and + malignancy so primitive, so abysmal, that it sent the chills up and down + Denby's spine. Koho arose proudly. + </p> + <p> + “Me go along,” he said. “You sing out one fella boat stop along me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + Having seen Grief and Worth start for a ride over the plantation, + Wallenstein sat down in the big living-room and with gun-oil and old rags + proceeded to take apart and clean his automatic pistol. On the table + beside him stood the inevitable bottle of Scotch and numerous soda + bottles. Another bottle, part full, chanced to stand there. It was also + labelled Scotch, but its content was liniment which Worth had mixed for + the horses and neglected to put away. + </p> + <p> + As Wallenstein worked, he glanced through the window and saw Koho coming + up the compound path. He was limping very rapidly, but when he came along + the veranda and entered the room his gait was slow and dignified. He sat + down and watched the gun-cleaning, Though mouth and lips and tongue were + afire, he gave no sign. At the end of five minutes he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Rum he good fella. Me like 'm rum.” Wallenstein smiled and shook his + head, and then it was that his perverse imp suggested what was to be his + last joke on a native. The similarity of the two bottles was the real + suggestion. He laid his pistol parts on the table and mixed himself a long + drink. Standing as he did between Koho and the table, he interchanged the + two bottles, drained his glass, made as if to search for something, and + left the room. From outside he heard the surprised splutter and cough; but + when he returned the old chief sat as before. The liniment in the bottle, + however, was lower, and it still oscillated. + </p> + <p> + Koho stood up, clapped his hands, and, when the house-boy answered, signed + that he desired his rifle. The boy fetched the weapon, and according to + custom preceded the visitor down the pathway. Not until outside the gate + did the boy turn the rifle over to its owner. Wallenstein, chuckling to + himself, watched the old chief limp along the beach in the direction of + the river. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later, as he put his pistol together, Wallenstein heard the + distant report of a gun. For the instant he thought of Koho, then + dismissed the conjecture from his mind. Worth and Grief had taken shotguns + with them, and it was probably one of their shots at a pigeon. Wallenstein + lounged back in his chair, chuckled, twisted his yellow mustache, and + dozed. He was aroused by the excited voice of Worth, crying out: + </p> + <p> + “Ring the big fella bell! Ring plenty too much! Ring like hell!” + </p> + <p> + Wallenstein gained the veranda in time to see the manager jump his horse + over the low fence of the compound and dash down the beach after Grief, + who was riding madly ahead. A loud crackling and smoke rising through the + cocoanut trees told the story. The boat-houses and the barracks were on + fire. The big plantation bell was ringing wildly as the German Resident + ran down the beach, and he could see whaleboats hastily putting off from + the schooner. + </p> + <p> + Barracks and boat-houses, grass-thatched and like tinder, were wrapped in + flames. Grief emerged from the kitchen, carrying a naked black child by + the leg. Its head was missing. + </p> + <p> + “The cook's in there,” he told Worth. “Her head's gone, too. She was too + heavy, and I had to clear out.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my fault,” Wallenstein said. “Old Koho did it. But I let him take + a drink of Worth's horse liniment.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he's headed for the bush,” Worth said, springing astride his + horse and starting. “Oliver is down there by the river. Hope he didn't get + <i>him</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The manager galloped away through the trees. A few minutes later, as the + charred wreck of the barracks crashed in, they heard him calling and + followed. On the edge of the river bank they came upon him. He still sat + on his horse, very white-faced, and gazed at something on the ground. It + was the body of Oliver, the young assistant manager, though it was hard to + realize it, for the head was gone. The black labourers, breathless from + their run in from the fields, were now crowding around, and under conches + to-night, and the war-drums, “all merry hell will break loose. They won't + rush us, but keep all the boys close up to the house, Mr. Worth. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + As they returned along the path they came upon a black who whimpered and + cried vociferously. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up mouth belong you!” Worth shouted. “What name you make 'm noise?” + </p> + <p> + “Him fella Koho finish along two fella bulla-macow,” the black answered, + drawing a forefinger significantly across his throat. + </p> + <p> + “He's knifed the cows,” Grief said. “That means no more milk for some time + for you, Worth. I'll see about sending a couple up from Ugi.” + </p> + <p> + Wallenstein proved inconsolable, until Denby, coming ashore, confessed to + the dose of essence of mustard. Thereat the German Resident became even + cheerful, though he twisted his yellow mustache up more fiercely and + continued to curse the Solomons with oaths culled from four languages. + </p> + <p> + Next morning, visible from the masthead of the <i>Wonder</i>, the bush was + alive with signal-smokes. From promontory to promontory, and back through + the solid jungle, the smoke-pillars curled and puffed and talked. Remote + villages on the higher peaks, beyond the farthest raids McTavish had ever + driven, joined in the troubled conversation. From across the river + persisted a bedlam of conches; while from everywhere, drifting for miles + along the quiet air, came the deep, booming reverberations of the great + war-drums—huge tree trunks, hollowed by fire and carved with tools + of stone and shell. “You're all right as long as you stay close,” Grief + told his manager. “I've got to get along to Guvutu. They won't come out in + the open and attack you. Keep the work-gangs close. Stop the clearing till + this blows over. They'll get any detached gangs you send out. And, + whatever you do, don't be fooled into going into the bush after Koho. If + you do, he'll get you. All you've got to do is wait for McTavish. I'll + send him up with a bunch of his Malaita bush-men. He's the only man who + can go inside. Also, until he comes, I'll leave Denby with you. You don't + mind, do you, Mr. Denby? I'll send McTavish up with the <i>Wanda</i>, and + you can go back on her and rejoin the <i>Wonder</i>. Captain Ward can + manage without you for a trip.” + </p> + <p> + “It was just what I was going to volunteer,” Denby answered. “I never + dreamed all this muss would be kicked up over a joke. You see, in a way I + consider myself responsible for it.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I responsible,” Wallenstein broke in. + </p> + <p> + “But I started it,” the supercargo urged. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you did, but I carried it along.” + </p> + <p> + “And Koho finished it,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, I, too, shall remain,” said the German. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were coming to Guvutu with me,” Grief protested. + </p> + <p> + “I was. But this is my jurisdiction, partly, and I have made a fool of + myself in it completely. I shall remain and help get things straight + again.” + </p> + <p> + At Guvutu, Grief sent full instructions to McTavish by a recruiting ketch + which was just starting for Malaita. Captain Ward sailed in the <i>Wonder</i> + for the Santa Cruz Islands; and Grief, borrowing a whaleboat and a crew of + black prisoners from the British Resident, crossed the channel to + Guadalcanar, to examine the grass lands back of Penduffryn. + </p> + <p> + Three weeks later, with a free sheet and a lusty breeze, he threaded the + coral patches and surged up the smooth water to Guvutu anchorage. The + harbour was deserted, save for a small ketch which lay close in to the + shore reef. Grief recognized it as the <i>Wanda</i>. She had evidently + just got in by the Tulagi Passage, for her black crew was still at work + furling the sails. As he rounded alongside, McTavish himself extended a + hand to help him over the rail. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” Grief asked. “Haven't you started yet?” + </p> + <p> + McTavish nodded. “And got back. Everything's all right on board.” + </p> + <p> + “How's New Gibbon?” + </p> + <p> + “All there, the last I saw of it, barrin' a few inconsequential frills + that a good eye could make out lacking from the landscape.” + </p> + <p> + He was a cold flame of a man, small as Koho, and as dried up, with a + mahogany complexion and small, expressionless blue eyes that were more + like gimlet-points than the eyes of a Scotchman. Without fear, without + enthusiasm, impervious to disease and climate and sentiment, he was lean + and bitter and deadly as a snake. That his present sour look boded ill + news, Grief was well aware. + </p> + <p> + “Spit it out!” he said. “What's happened?” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a thing severely to be condemned, a damned shame, this joking with + heathen niggers,” was the reply. “Also, 'tis very expensive. Come below, + Mr. Grief. You'll be better for the information with a long glass in your + hand. After you.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you settle things?” his employer demanded as soon as they were + seated in the cabin. + </p> + <p> + The little Scotchman shook his head. “There was nothing to settle. It all + depends how you look at it. The other way would be to say it was settled, + entirely settled, mind you, before I got there.” + </p> + <p> + “But the plantation, man? The plantation?” + </p> + <p> + “No plantation. All the years of our work have gone for naught. 'Tis back + where we started, where the missionaries started, where the Germans + started—and where they finished. Not a stone stands on another at + the landing pier. The houses are black ashes. Every tree is hacked down, + and the wild pigs are rooting out the yams and sweet potatoes. Those boys + from New Georgia, a fine bunch they were, five score of them, and they + cost you a pretty penny. Not one is left to tell the tale.” + </p> + <p> + He paused and began fumbling in a large locker under the companion-steps. + </p> + <p> + “But Worth? And Denby? And Wallenstein?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I'm telling you. Take a look.” + </p> + <p> + McTavish dragged out a sack made of rice matting and emptied its contents + on the floor. David Grief pulled himself together with a jerk, for he + found himself gazing fascinated at the heads of the three men he had left + at New Gibbon. The yellow mustache of Wallenstein had lost its fierce curl + and drooped and wilted on the upper lip. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how it happened,” the Scotchman's voice went on drearily. + “But I surmise they went into the bush after the old devil.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is Koho?” Grief asked. + </p> + <p> + “Back in the bush and drunk as a lord. That's how I was able to recover + the heads. He was too drunk to stand. They lugged him on their backs out + of the village when I rushed it. And if you'll relieve me of the heads, + I'll be well obliged.” He paused and sighed. “I suppose they'll have + regular funerals over them and put them in the ground. But in my way of + thinking they'd make excellent curios. Any respectable museum would pay a + hundred quid apiece. Better have another drink. You're looking a bit pale—— + There, put that down you, and if you'll take my advice, Mr. Grief, I would + say, set your face sternly against any joking with the niggers. It always + makes trouble, and it is a very expensive divertisement.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Five—A LITTLE ACCOUNT WITH SWITHIN HALL + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + With a last long scrutiny at the unbroken circle of the sea, David Grief + swung out of the cross-trees and slowly and dejectedly descended the + ratlines to the deck. + </p> + <p> + “Leu-Leu Atoll is sunk, Mr. Snow,” he said to the anxious-faced young + mate. “If there is anything in navigation, the atoll is surely under the + sea, for we've sailed clear over it twice—or the spot where it ought + to be. It's either that or the chronometer's gone wrong, or I've forgotten + my navigation.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be the chronometer, sir,” the mate reassured his owner. “You know + I made separate sights and worked them up, and that they agreed with + yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Grief muttered, nodding glumly, “and where your Summer lines + crossed, and mine, too, was the dead centre of Leu-Leu Atoll. It must be + the chronometer—slipped a cog or something.” + </p> + <p> + He made a short pace to the rail and back, and cast a troubled eye at the + <i>Uncle Toby's</i> wake. The schooner, with a fairly strong breeze on her + quarter, was logging nine or ten knots. + </p> + <p> + “Better bring her up on the wind, Mr. Snow. Put her under easy sail and + let her work to windward on two-hour legs. It's thickening up, and I don't + imagine we can get a star observation to-night; so we'll just hold our + weather position, get a latitude sight to-morrow, and run Leu-Leu down on + her own latitude. That's the way all the old navigators did.” + </p> + <p> + Broad of beam, heavily sparred, with high freeboard and bluff, Dutchy bow, + the <i>Uncle Toby</i> was the slowest, tubbiest, safest, and most + fool-proof schooner David Grief possessed. Her run was in the Banks and + Santa Cruz groups and to the northwest among the several isolated atolls + where his native traders collected copra, hawksbill turtle, and an + occasional ton of pearl shell. Finding the skipper down with a + particularly bad stroke of fever, Grief had relieved him and taken the <i>Uncle + Toby</i> on her semiannual run to the atolls. He had elected to make his + first call at Leu-Leu, which lay farthest, and now found himself lost at + sea with a chronometer that played tricks. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + No stars showed that night, nor was the sun visible next day. A stuffy, + sticky calm obtained, broken by big wind-squalls and heavy downpours. From + fear of working too far to windward, the Uncle Toby was hove to, and four + days and nights of cloud-hidden sky followed. Never did the sun appear, + and on the several occasions that stars broke through they were too dim + and fleeting for identification. By this time it was patent to the veriest + tyro that the elements were preparing to break loose. Grief, coming on + deck from consulting the barometer, which steadfastly remained at 29.90, + encountered Jackie-Jackie, whose face was as brooding and troublous as the + sky and air. Jackie-Jackie, a Tongan sailor of experience, served as a + sort of bosun and semi-second mate over the mixed Kanaka crew. + </p> + <p> + “Big weather he come, I think,” he said. “I see him just the same before + maybe five, six times.” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. “Hurricane weather, all right, Jackie-Jackie. Pretty soon + barometer go down—bottom fall out.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” the Tongan concurred. “He goin' to blow like hell.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later Snow came on deck. + </p> + <p> + “She's started,” he said; “29.85, going down and pumping at the same time. + It's stinking hot—don't you notice it?” He brushed his forehead with + his hands. “It's sickening. I could lose my breakfast without trying.” + </p> + <p> + Jackie-Jackie grinned. “Just the same me. Everything inside walk about. + Always this way before big blow. But <i>Uncle Toby</i> all right. He go + through anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Better rig that storm-trysail on the main, and a storm-jib,” Grief said + to the mate. “And put all the reefs into the working canvas before you + furl down. No telling what we may need. Put on double gaskets while you're + about it.” + </p> + <p> + In another hour, the sultry oppressiveness steadily increasing and the + stark calm still continuing, the barometer had fallen to 29.70. The mate, + being young, lacked the patience of waiting for the portentous. He ceased + his restless pacing, and waved his arms. + </p> + <p> + “If she's going to come let her come!” he cried. “There's no use + shilly-shallying this way! Whatever the worst is, let us know it and have + it! A pretty pickle—lost with a crazy chronometer and a hurricane + that won't blow!” + </p> + <p> + The cloud-mussed sky turned to a vague copper colour, and seemed to glow + as the inside of a huge heated caldron. Nobody remained below. The native + sailors formed in anxious groups amidships and for'ard, where they talked + in low voices and gazed apprehensively at the ominous sky and the equally + ominous sea that breathed in long, low, oily undulations. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like petroleum mixed with castor oil,” the mate grumbled, as he + spat his disgust overside. “My mother used to dose me with messes like + that when I was a kid. Lord, she's getting black!” + </p> + <p> + The lurid coppery glow had vanished, and the sky thickened and lowered + until the darkness was as that of a late twilight. David Grief, who well + knew the hurricane rules, nevertheless reread the “Laws of Storms,” + screwing his eyes in the faint light in order to see the print. There was + nothing to be done save wait for the wind, so that he might know how he + lay in relation to the fast-flying and deadly centre that from somewhere + was approaching out of the gloom. + </p> + <p> + It was three in the afternoon, and the glass had sunk to 29:45, when the + wind came. They could see it on the water, darkening the face of the sea, + crisping tiny whitecaps as it rushed along. It was merely a stiff breeze, + and the <i>Uncle Toby</i>, filling away under her storm canvas till the + wind was abeam, sloshed along at a four-knot gait. + </p> + <p> + “No weight to that,” Snow sneered. “And after such grand preparation!” + </p> + <p> + “Pickaninny wind,” Jackie-Jackie agreed. “He grow big man pretty quick, + you see.” + </p> + <p> + Grief ordered the foresail put on, retaining the reefs, and the <i>Uncle + Toby</i> mended her pace in the rising breeze. The wind quickly grew to + man's size, but did not stop there. It merely blew hard, and harder, and + kept on blowing harder, advertising each increase by lulls followed by + fierce, freshening gusts. Ever it grew, until the <i>Uncle Toby's</i> rail + was more often pressed under than not, while her waist boiled with foaming + water which the scuppers could not carry off. Grief studied the barometer, + still steadily falling. + </p> + <p> + “The centre is to the southward,” he told Snow, “and we're running across + its path and into it. Now we'll turn about and run the other way. That + ought to bring the glass up. Take in the foresail—it's more than she + can carry already—and stand by to wear her around.” + </p> + <p> + The maneuver was accomplished, and through the gloom that was almost that + of the first darkness of evening the <i>Uncle Toby</i> turned and raced + madly north across the face of the storm. + </p> + <p> + “It's nip and tuck,” Grief confided to the mate a couple of hours later. + “The storm's swinging a big curve—there's no calculating that curve—and + we may win across or the centre may catch us. Thank the Lord, the glass is + holding its own. It all depends on how big the curve is. The sea's too big + for us to keep on. Heave her to! She'll keep working along out anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I knew what wind was,” Snow shouted in his owner's ear next + morning. “This isn't wind. It's something unthinkable. It's impossible. It + must reach ninety or a hundred miles an hour in the gusts. That don't mean + anything. How could I ever tell it to anybody? I couldn't. And look at + that sea! I've run my Easting down, but I never saw anything like that.” + </p> + <p> + Day had come, and the sun should have been up an hour, yet the best it + could produce was a sombre semi-twilight. The ocean was a stately + procession of moving mountains. A third of a mile across yawned the + valleys between the great waves. Their long slopes, shielded somewhat from + the full fury of the wind, were broken by systems of smaller whitecapping + waves, but from the high crests of the big waves themselves the wind tore + the whitecaps in the forming. This spume drove masthead high, and higher, + horizontally, above the surface of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “We're through the worst,” was Grief's judgment. “The glass is coming + along all the time. The sea will get bigger as the wind eases down. I'm + going to turn in. Watch for shifts in the wind. They'll be sure to come. + Call me at eight bells.” + </p> + <p> + By mid-afternoon, in a huge sea, with the wind after its last shift no + more than a stiff breeze, the Tongan bosun sighted a schooner bottom up. + The <i>Uncle Toby's</i> drift took them across the bow and they could not + make out the name; but before night they picked up with a small, + round-bottom, double-ender boat, swamped but with white lettering visible + on its bow. Through the binoculars, Gray made out: <i>Emily L No. 3</i>. + </p> + <p> + “A sealing schooner,” Grief said. “But what a sealer's doing in these + waters is beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + “Treasure-hunters, maybe?” Snow speculated. “The <i>Sophie Sutherland</i> + and the <i>Herman</i> were sealers, you remember, chartered out of San + Francisco by the chaps with the maps who can always go right to the spot + until they get there and don't.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + After a giddy night of grand and lofty tumbling, in which, over a big and + dying sea, without a breath of wind to steady her, the Uncle Toby rolled + every person on board sick of soul, a light breeze sprang up and the reefs + were shaken out. By midday, on a smooth ocean floor, the clouds thinned + and cleared and sights of the sun were obtained. Two degrees and fifteen + minutes south, the observation gave them. With a broken chronometer + longitude was out of the question. + </p> + <p> + “We're anywhere within five hundred and a thousand miles along that + latitude line,” Grief remarked, as he and the mate bent over the chart. + </p> + <p> + “Leu-Leu is to the south'ard somewhere, and this section of ocean is all + blank. There is neither an island nor a reef by which we can regulate the + chronometer. The only thing to do—” + </p> + <p> + “Land ho, skipper!” the Tongan called down the companionway. + </p> + <p> + Grief took a quick glance at the empty blank of the chart, whistled his + surprise, and sank back feebly in a chair. + </p> + <p> + “It gets me,” he said. “There can't be land around here. We never drifted + or ran like that. The whole voyage has been crazy. Will you kindly go up, + Mr. Snow, and see what's ailing Jackie.” + </p> + <p> + “It's land all right,” the mate called down a minute afterward. “You can + see it from the deck—tops of cocoanuts—an atoll of some sort. + Maybe it's Leu-Leu after all.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head positively as he gazed at the fringe of palms, only + the tops visible, apparently rising out of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Haul up on the wind, Mr. Snow, close-and-by, and we'll take a look. We + can just reach past to the south, and if it spreads off in that direction + we'll hit the southwest corner.” + </p> + <p> + Very near must palms be to be seen from the low deck of a schooner, and, + slowly as the <i>Uncle Toby</i> sailed, she quickly raised the low land + above the sea, while more palms increased the definition of the atoll + circle. + </p> + <p> + “She's a beauty,” the mate remarked. “A perfect circle.... Looks as if it + might be eight or nine miles across.... Wonder if there's an entrance to + the lagoon.... Who knows? Maybe it's a brand new find.” + </p> + <p> + They coasted up the west side of the atoll, making short tacks in to the + surf-pounded coral rock and out again. From the masthead, across the + palm-fringe, a Kanaka announced the lagoon and a small island in the + middle. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you're thinking,” Grief said to his mate. + </p> + <p> + Snow, who had been muttering and shaking his head, looked up with quick + and challenging incredulity. + </p> + <p> + “You're thinking the entrance will be on the northwest.” Grief went on, as + if reciting. + </p> + <p> + “Two cable lengths wide, marked on the north by three separated cocoanuts, + and on the south by pandanus trees. Eight miles in diameter, a perfect + circle, with an island in the dead centre.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>was</i> thinking that,” Snow acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + “And there's the entrance opening up just where it ought to be——” + </p> + <p> + “And the three palms,” Snow almost whispered, “and the pandanus trees. If + there's a windmill on the island, it's it—Swithin Hall's island. But + it can't be. Everybody's been looking for it for the last ten years.” + </p> + <p> + “Hall played you a dirty trick once, didn't he?” Grief queried. + </p> + <p> + Snow nodded. “That's why I'm working for you. He broke me flat. It was + downright robbery. I bought the wreck of the <i>Cascade</i>, down in + Sydney, out of a first instalment of a legacy from home.” + </p> + <p> + “She went on Christmas Island, didn't she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, full tilt, high and dry, in the night. They saved the passengers and + mails. Then I bought a little island schooner, which took the rest of my + money, and I had to wait the final payment by the executors to fit her + out. What did Swithin Hall do—he was at Honolulu at the time—but + make a straightaway run for Christmas Island. Neither right nor title did + he have. When I got there, the hull and engines were all that was left of + the <i>Cascade</i>. She had had a fair shipment of silk on board, too. And + it wasn't even damaged. I got it afterward pretty straight from his + supercargo. He cleared something like sixty thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + Snow shrugged his shoulders and gazed bleakly at the smooth surface of the + lagoon, where tiny wavelets danced in the afternoon sun. + </p> + <p> + “The wreck was mine. I bought her at public auction. I'd gambled big, and + I'd lost. When I got back to Sydney, the crew, and some of the tradesmen + who'd extended me credit, libelled the schooner. I pawned my watch and + sextant, and shovelled coal one spell, and finally got a billet in the New + Hebrides on a screw of eight pounds a month. Then I tried my luck as + independent trader, went broke, took a mate's billet on a recruiter down + to Tanna and over to Fiji, got a job as overseer on a German plantation + back of Apia, and finally settled down on the <i>Uncle Toby</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever met Swithin Hall?” + </p> + <p> + Snow shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you're likely to meet him now. There's the windmill.” + </p> + <p> + In the centre of the lagoon, as they emerged from the passage, they opened + a small, densely wooded island, among the trees of which a large Dutch + windmill showed plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody at home from the looks of it,” Grief said, “or you might have a + chance to collect.” + </p> + <p> + The mate's face set vindictively, and his fists clenched. + </p> + <p> + “Can't touch him legally. He's got too much money now. But I can take + sixty thousand dollars' worth out of his hide. I hope he is at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I hope he is, too,” Grief said, with an appreciative smile. “You got + the description of his island from Bau-Oti, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as pretty well everybody else has. The trouble is that Bau-Oti can't + give latitude or longitude. Says they sailed a long way from the Gilberts—that's + all he knows. I wonder what became of him.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him a year ago on the beach at Tahiti. Said he was thinking about + shipping for a cruise through the Paumotus. Well, here we are, getting + close in. Heave the lead, Jackie-Jackie. Stand by to let go, Mr. Snow. + According to Bau-Oti, anchorage three hundred yards off the west shore in + nine fathoms, coral patches to the southeast. There are the patches. What + do you get, Jackie?” + </p> + <p> + “Nine fadom.” + </p> + <p> + “Let go, Mr. Snow.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Uncle Toby</i> swung to her chain, head-sails ran down, and the + Kanaka crew sprang to fore and main-halyards and sheets. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + The whaleboat laid alongside the small, coral-stone landing-pier, and + David Grief and his mate stepped ashore. + </p> + <p> + “You'd think the place deserted,” Grief said, as they walked up a sanded + path to the bungalow. “But I smell a smell that I've often smelled. + Something doing, or my nose is a liar. The lagoon is carpeted with shell. + They're rotting the meat out not a thousand miles away. Get that whiff?” + </p> + <p> + Like no bungalow in the tropics was this bungalow of Swithin Hall. Of + mission architecture, when they had entered through the unlatched screen + door they found decoration and furniture of the same mission style. The + floor of the big living-room was covered with the finest Samoan mats. + There were couches, window seats, cozy corners, and a billiard table. A + sewing table, and a sewing-basket, spilling over with sheer linen in the + French embroidery of which stuck a needle, tokened a woman's presence. By + screen and veranda the blinding sunshine was subdued to a cool, dim + radiance. The sheen of pearl push-buttons caught Grief's eye. + </p> + <p> + “Storage batteries, by George, run by the windmill!” he exclaimed as he + pressed the buttons. “And concealed lighting!” + </p> + <p> + Hidden bowls glowed, and the room was filled with diffused golden light. + Many shelves of books lined the walls. Grief fell to running over their + titles. A fairly well-read man himself, for a sea-adventurer, he glimpsed + a wide-ness of range and catholicity of taste that were beyond him. Old + friends he met, and others that he had heard of but never read. There were + complete sets of Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Gorky; of Cooper and Mark Twain; + of Hugo, and Zola, and Sue; and of Flaubert, De Maupassant, and Paul de + Koch. He glanced curiously at the pages of Metchnikoff, Weininger, and + Schopenhauer, and wonderingly at those of Ellis, Lydston, Krafft-Ebbing, + and Forel. Woodruff's “Expansion of Races” was in his hands when Snow + returned from further exploration of the house. + </p> + <p> + “Enamelled bath-tub, separate room for a shower, and a sitz-bath!” he + exclaimed. “Fitted up for a king! And I reckon some of my money went to + pay for it. The place must be occupied. I found fresh-opened butter and + milk tins in the pantry, and fresh turtle-meat hanging up. I'm going to + see what else I can find.” + </p> + <p> + Grief, too, departed, through a door that led out of the opposite end of + the living-room. He found himself in a self-evident woman's bedroom. + Across it, he peered through a wire-mesh door into a screened and darkened + sleeping porch. On a couch lay a woman asleep. In the soft light she + seemed remarkably beautiful in a dark Spanish way. By her side, opened and + face downward, a novel lay on a chair. From the colour in her cheeks, + Grief concluded that she had not been long in the tropics. After the one + glimpse he stole softly back, in time to see Snow entering the living-room + through the other door. By the naked arm he was clutching an age-wrinkled + black who grinned in fear and made signs of dumbness. + </p> + <p> + “I found him snoozing in a little kennel out back,” the mate said. “He's + the cook, I suppose. Can't get a word out of him. What did you find?” + </p> + <p> + “A sleeping princess. S-sh! There's somebody now.” + </p> + <p> + “If it's Hall,” Snow muttered, clenching his fist. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. “No rough-house. There's a woman here. And if it is + Hall, before we go I'll maneuver a chance for you to get action.” + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and a large, heavily built man entered. In his belt was a + heavy, long-barrelled Colt's. One quick, anxious look he gave them, then + his face wreathed in a genial smile and his hand was extended. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome, strangers. But if you don't mind my asking, how, by all that's + sacred, did you ever manage to find my island?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we were out of our course,” Grief answered, shaking hands. + </p> + <p> + “My name's Hall, Swithin Hall,” the other said, turning to shake Snow's + hand. “And I don't mind telling you that you're the first visitors I've + ever had.” + </p> + <p> + “And this is your secret island that's had all the beaches talking for + years?” Grief answered. “Well, I know the formula now for finding it.” + </p> + <p> + “How's that?” Hall asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Smash your chronometer, get mixed up with a hurricane, and then keep your + eyes open for cocoanuts rising out of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is your name?” Hall asked, after he had laughed perfunctorily. + </p> + <p> + “Anstey—Phil Anstey,” Grief answered promptly. “Bound on the <i>Uncle + Toby</i> from the Gilberts to New Guinea, and trying to find my longitude. + This is my mate, Mr. Gray, a better navigator than I, but who has lost his + goat just the same to the chronometer.” + </p> + <p> + Grief did not know his reason for lying, but he had felt the prompting and + succumbed to it. He vaguely divined that something was wrong, but could + not place his finger on it. Swithin Hall was a fat, round-faced man, with + a laughing lip and laughter-wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. But + Grief, in his early youth, had learned how deceptive this type could + prove, as well as the deceptiveness of blue eyes that screened the surface + with fun and hid what went on behind. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing with my cook?—lost yours and trying to shanghai + him?” Hall was saying. “You'd better let him go, if you're going to have + any supper. My wife's here, and she'll be glad to meet you—dinner, + she calls it, and calls me down for misnaming it, but I'm old fashioned. + My folks always ate dinner in the middle of the day. Can't get over early + training. Don't you want to wash up? I do. Look at me. I've been working + like a dog—out with the diving crew—shell, you know. But of + course you smelt it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + Snow pleaded charge of the schooner, and went on board. In addition to his + repugnance at breaking salt with the man who had robbed him, it was + necessary for him to impress the in-violableness of Grief's lies on the + Kanaka crew. By eleven o'clock Grief came on board, to find his mate + waiting up for him. + </p> + <p> + “There's something doing on Swithin Hall's island,” Grief said, shaking + his head. “I can't make out what it is, but I get the feel of it. What + does Swithin Hall look like?” + </p> + <p> + Snow shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “That man ashore there never bought the books on the shelves,” Grief + declared with conviction. “Nor did he ever go in for concealed lighting. + He's got a surface flow of suavity, but he's rough as a hoof-rasp + underneath. He's an oily bluff. And the bunch he's got with him—Watson + and Gorman their names are; they came in after you left—real + sea-dogs, middle-aged, marred and battered, tough as rusty wrought-iron + nails and twice as dangerous; real ugly customers, with guns in their + belts, who don't strike me as just the right sort to be on such comradely + terms with Swithin Hall. And the woman! She's a lady. I mean it. She knows + a whole lot of South America, and of China, too. I'm sure she's Spanish, + though her English is natural. She's travelled. We talked bull-fights. + She's seen them in Guayaquil, in Mexico, in Seville. She knows a lot about + sealskins. + </p> + <p> + “Now here's what bothers me. She knows music. I asked her if she played. + And he's fixed that place up like a palace. That being so, why hasn't he a + piano for her? Another thing: she's quick and lively and he watches her + whenever she talks. He's on pins and needles, and continually breaking in + and leading the conversation. Say, did you ever hear that Swithin Hall was + married?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me, I don't know,” the mate replied. “Never entered my head to + think about it.” + </p> + <p> + “He introduced her as Mrs. Hall. And Watson and Gorman call him Hall. + They're a precious pair, those two men. I don't understand it at all.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do about it?” Snow asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hang around a while. There are some books ashore there I want to + read. Suppose you send that topmast down in the morning and generally + overhaul. We've been through a hurricane, you know. Set up the rigging + while you're about it. Get things pretty well adrift, and take your time.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The next day Grief's suspicions found further food. Ashore early, he + strolled across the little island to the barracks occupied by the divers. + </p> + <p> + They were just boarding the boats when he arrived, and it struck him that + for Kanakas they behaved more like chain-gang prisoners. The three white + men were there, and Grief noted that each carried a rifle. Hall greeted + him jovially enough, but Gorman and Watson scowled as they grunted curt + good mornings. + </p> + <p> + A moment afterward one of the Kanakas, as he bent to place his oar, + favoured Grief with a slow, deliberate wink. The man's face was familiar, + one of the thousands of native sailors and divers he had encountered + drifting about in the island trade. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell them who I am,” Grief said, in Tahitian. “Did you ever sail + for me?” + </p> + <p> + The man's head nodded and his mouth opened, but before he could speak he + was suppressed by a savage “Shut up!” from Watson, who was already in the + sternsheets. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon,” Grief said. “I ought to have known better.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” Hall interposed. “The trouble is they're too much talk + and not enough work. Have to be severe with them, or they wouldn't get + enough shell to pay their grub.” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded sympathetically. “I know them. Got a crew of them myself—the + lazy swine. Got to drive them like niggers to get a half-day's work out of + them.” + </p> + <p> + “What was you sayin' to him?” Gorman blurted in bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “I was asking how the shell was, and how deep they were diving.” + </p> + <p> + “Thick,” Hall took over the answering. “We're working now in about ten + fathom. It's right out there, not a hundred yards off. Want to come + along?” + </p> + <p> + Half the day Grief spent with the boats, and had lunch in the bungalow. In + the afternoon he loafed, taking a siesta in the big living-room, reading + some, and talking for half an hour with Mrs. Hall. After dinner, he played + billiards with her husband. It chanced that Grief had never before + encountered Swithin Hall, yet the latter's fame as an expert at billiards + was the talk of the beaches from Levuka to Honolulu. But the man Grief + played with this night proved most indifferent at the game. His wife + showed herself far cleverer with the cue. + </p> + <p> + When he went on board the <i>Uncle Toby</i> Grief routed Jackie-Jackie out + of bed. He described the location of the barracks, and told the Tongan to + swim softly around and have talk with the Kanakas. In two hours + Jackie-Jackie was back. He shook his head as he stood dripping before + Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Very funny t'ing,” he reported. “One white man stop all the time. He has + big rifle. He lay in water and watch. Maybe twelve o'clock, other white + man come and take rifle. First white man go to bed. Other man stop now + with rifle. No good. Me cannot talk with Kanakas. Me come back.” + </p> + <p> + “By George!” Grief said to Snow, after the Tongan had gone back to his + bunk. “I smell something more than shell. Those three men are standing + watches over their Kanakas. That man's no more Swithin Hall than I am.” + </p> + <p> + Snow whistled from the impact of a new idea. + </p> + <p> + “I've got it!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “And I'll name it,” Grief retorted, “It's in your mind that the <i>Emily + L.</i> was their schooner?” + </p> + <p> + “Just that. They're raising and rotting the shell, while she's gone for + more divers, or provisions, or both.” + </p> + <p> + “And I agree with you.” Grief glanced at the cabin clock and evinced signs + of bed-going. “He's a sailor. The three of them are. But they're not + island men. They're new in these waters.” + </p> + <p> + Again Snow whistled. + </p> + <p> + “And the <i>Emily L.</i> is lost with all hands,” he said. “We know that. + They're marooned here till Swithin Hall comes. Then he'll catch them with + all the shell.” + </p> + <p> + “Or they'll take possession of his schooner.” + </p> + <p> + “Hope they do!” Snow muttered vindictively. “Somebody ought to rob him. + Wish I was in their boots. I'd balance off that sixty thousand.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + A week passed, during which time the <i>Uncle Toby</i> was ready for sea, + while Grief managed to allay any suspicion of him by the shore crowd. + </p> + <p> + Even Gorman and Watson accepted him at his self-description. Throughout + the week Grief begged and badgered them for the longitude of the island. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't have me leave here lost,” he finally urged. “I can't get a + line on my chronometer without your longitude.” + </p> + <p> + Hall laughingly refused. + </p> + <p> + “You're too good a navigator, Mr. Anstey, not to fetch New Guinea or some + other high land.” + </p> + <p> + “And you're too good a navigator, Mr. Hall,” Grief replied, “not to know + that I can fetch your island any time by running down its latitude.” + </p> + <p> + On the last evening, ashore, as usual, to dinner, Grief got his first view + of the pearls they had collected. Mrs. Hall, waxing enthusiastic, had + asked her husband to bring forth the “pretties,” and had spent half an + hour showing them to Grief. His delight in them was genuine, as well as + was his surprise that they had made so rich a haul. + </p> + <p> + “The lagoon is virgin,” Hall explained. “You saw yourself that most of the + shell is large and old. But it's funny that we got most of the valuable + pearls in one small patch in the course of a week. It was a little + treasure house. Every oyster seemed filled—seed pearls by the quart, + of course, but the perfect ones, most of that bunch there, came out of the + small patch.” + </p> + <p> + Grief ran his eye over them and knew their value ranged from one hundred + to a thousand dollars each, while the several selected large ones went far + beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the pretties! the pretties!” Mrs. Hall cried, bending forward + suddenly and kissing them. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later she arose to say good-night. + </p> + <p> + “It's good-bye,” Grief said, as he took her hand. “We sail at daylight.” + </p> + <p> + “So suddenly!” she cried, while Grief could not help seeing the quick + light of satisfaction in her husband's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Grief continued. “All the repairs are finished. I can't get the + longitude of your island out of your husband, though I'm still in hopes + he'll relent.” + </p> + <p> + Hall laughed and shook his head, and, as his wife left the room, proposed + a last farewell nightcap. They sat over it, smoking and talking. + </p> + <p> + “What do you estimate they're worth?” Grief asked, indicating the spread + of pearls on the table. “I mean what the pearl-buyers would give you in + open market?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, seventy-five or eighty thousand,” Hall said carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you're underestimating. I know pearls a bit. Take that biggest + one. It's perfect. Not a cent less than five thousand dollars. Some + multimillionaire will pay double that some day, when the dealers have + taken their whack. And never minding the seed pearls, you've got quarts of + baroques there. And baroques are coming into fashion. They're picking up + and doubling on themselves every year.” + </p> + <p> + Hall gave the trove of pearls a closer and longer scrutiny, estimating the + different parcels and adding the sum aloud. + </p> + <p> + “You're right,” he admitted. “They're worth a hundred thousand right now.” + </p> + <p> + “And at what do you figure your working expenses?” Grief went on. “Your + time, and your two men's, and the divers'?” + </p> + <p> + “Five thousand would cover it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they stand to net you ninety-five thousand?” + </p> + <p> + “Something like that. But why so curious?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I was just trying——” Grief paused and drained his glass. + “Just trying to reach some sort of an equitable arrangement. Suppose I + should give you and your people a passage to Sydney and the five thousand + dollars—or, better, seven thousand five hundred. You've worked + hard.” + </p> + <p> + Without commotion or muscular movement the other man became alert and + tense. His round-faced geniality went out like the flame of a snuffed + candle. No laughter clouded the surface of the eyes, and in their depths + showed the hard, dangerous soul of the man. He spoke in a low, deliberate + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Now just what in hell do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + Grief casually relighted his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know just how to begin,” he said. “The situation is—er—is + embarrassing for you. You see, I'm trying to be fair. As I say, you've + worked hard. I don't want to confiscate the pearls. I want to pay you for + your time and trouble, and expense.” + </p> + <p> + Conviction, instantaneous and absolute, froze on the other's face. + </p> + <p> + “And I thought you were in Europe,” he muttered. Hope flickered for a + moment. “Look here, you're joking me. How do I know you're Swithin Hall?” + </p> + <p> + Grief shrugged his shoulders. “Such a joke would be in poor taste, after + your hospitality. And it is equally in poor taste to have two Swithin + Halls on the island.” + </p> + <p> + “Since you're Swithin Hall, then who the deuce am I? Do you know that, + too?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Grief answered airily. “But I'd like to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's none of your business.” + </p> + <p> + “I grant it. Your identity is beside the point. Besides, I know your + schooner, and I can find out who you are from that.” + </p> + <p> + “What's her name?” + </p> + <p> + “The <i>Emily L.</i> + </p> + <p> + “Correct. I'm Captain Raffy, owner and master.” + </p> + <p> + “The seal-poacher? I've heard of you. What under the sun brought you down + here on my preserves?” + </p> + <p> + “Needed the money. The seal herds are about finished.” + </p> + <p> + “And the out-of-the-way places of the world are better policed, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty close to it. And now about this present scrape, Mr. Hall. I can + put up a nasty fight. What are you going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “What I said. Even better. What's the <i>Emily L.</i> worth?” + </p> + <p> + “She's seen her day. Not above ten thousand, which would be robbery. Every + time she's in a rough sea I'm afraid she'll jump her ballast through her + planking.” + </p> + <p> + “She has jumped it, Captain Raffy. I sighted her bottom-up after the blow. + Suppose we say she was worth seven thousand five hundred. I'll pay over to + you fifteen thousand and give you a passage. Don't move your hands from + your lap.” Grief stood up, went over to him, and took his revolver. “Just + a necessary precaution, Captain. Now you'll go on board with me. I'll + break the news to Mrs. Raffy afterward, and fetch her out to join you.” + </p> + <p> + “You're behaving handsomely, Mr. Hall, I must say,” Captain Raffy + volunteered, as the whaleboat came alongside the <i>Uncle Toby</i>. “But + watch out for Gorman and Watson. They're ugly customers. And, by the way, + I don't like to mention it, but you've seen my wife. I've given her four + or five pearls. Watson and Gorman were willing.” + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, Captain. Say no more. They shall remain hers. Is that you, + Mr. Snow? Here's a friend I want you to take charge of—Captain + Raffy. I'm going ashore for his wife.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + David Grief sat writing at the library table in the bungalow living-room. + Outside, the first pale of dawn was showing. He had had a busy night. Mrs. + Raffy had taken two hysterical hours to pack her and Captain Raffy's + possessions. Gorman had been caught asleep, but Watson, standing guard + over the divers, had shown fight. Matters did not reach the shooting + stage, but it was only after it had been demonstrated to him that the game + was up that he consented to join his companions on board. For temporary + convenience, he and Gorman were shackled in the mate's room, Mrs. Raffy + was confined in Grief's, and Captain Raffy made fast to the cabin table. + </p> + <p> + Grief finished the document and read over what he had written: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Swithin Hall, + for pearls taken from his lagoon (estimated) $100,000 + + To Herbert Snow, paid in full for salvage from + steamship Cascade in pearls (estimated) $60,000 + + To Captain Raffy, salary and expenses for + collecting pearls 7,500 + + To Captain Raffy, reimbursement for + schooner Emily L., lost in hurricane 7,500 + + To Mrs. Raffy, for good will, five fair + pearls (estimated) 1,100 + + To passage to Syndey, four persons, + at $120. 480 + + To white lead for painting Swithin + Hall's two whaleboats 9 + + To Swithin Hall, balance in pearls (estimated) + which are to be found in drawer of library table 23,411 + + $100,000—$100,000 +</pre> + <p> + Grief signed and dated, paused, and added at the bottom: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>P. S.—Still owing to Swithin Hall three books, borrowed + from library: Hudson's “Law of Psychic Phenomena,” Zola's + “Paris,” and Mahan's “Problem of Asia.” These books, or full + value, can be collected of said David Griefs Sydney office</i>. +</pre> + <p> + He shut off the electric light, picked up the bundle of books, carefully + latched the front door, and went down to the waiting whaleboat. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Six—A GOBOTO NIGHT + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + At Goboto the traders come off their schooners and the planters drift in + from far, wild coasts, and one and all they assume shoes, white duck + trousers, and various other appearances of civilization. At Goboto mail is + received, bills are paid, and newspapers, rarely more than five weeks old, + are accessible; for the little island, belted with its coral reefs, + affords safe anchorage, is the steamer port of call, and serves as the + distributing point for the whole wide-scattered group. + </p> + <p> + Life at Goboto is heated, unhealthy, and lurid, and for its size it + asserts the distinction of more cases of acute alcoholism than any other + spot in the world. Guvutu, over in the Solomons, claims that it drinks + between drinks. Goboto does not deny this. It merely states, in passing, + that in the Goboton chronology no such interval of time is known. It also + points out its import statistics, which show a far larger per capita + consumption of spiritous liquors. Guvutu explains this on the basis that + Goboto does a larger business and has more visitors. Goboto retorts that + its resident population is smaller and that its visitors are thirstier. + And the discussion goes on interminably, principally because of the fact + that the disputants do not live long enough to settle it. + </p> + <p> + Goboto is not large. The island is only a quarter of a mile in diameter, + and on it are situated an admiralty coal-shed (where a few tons of coal + have lain untouched for twenty years), the barracks for a handful of black + labourers, a big store and warehouse with sheet-iron roofs, and a bungalow + inhabited by the manager and his two clerks. They are the white + population. An average of one man out of the three is always to be found + down with fever. The job at Goboto is a hard one. It is the policy of the + company to treat its patrons well, as invading companies have found out, + and it is the task of the manager and clerks to do the treating. + Throughout the year traders and recruiters arrive from far, dry cruises, + and planters from equally distant and dry shores, bringing with them + magnificent thirsts. Goboto is the mecca of sprees, and when they have + spread they go back to their schooners and plantations to recuperate. + </p> + <p> + Some of the less hardy require as much as six months between visits. But + for the manager and his assistants there are no such intervals. They are + on the spot, and week by week, blown in by monsoon or southeast trade, the + schooners come to anchor, cargo'd with copra, ivory nuts, pearl-shell, + hawksbill turtle, and thirst. + </p> + <p> + It is a very hard job at Goboto. That is why the pay is twice that on + other stations, and that is why the company selects only courageous and + intrepid men for this particular station. They last no more than a year or + so, when the wreckage of them is shipped back to Australia, or the remains + of them are buried in the sand across on the windward side of the islet. + Johnny Bassett, almost the legendary hero of Goboto, broke all records. He + was a remittance man with a remarkable constitution, and he lasted seven + years. His dying request was duly observed by his clerks, who pickled him + in a cask of trade-rum (paid for out of their own salaries) and shipped + him back to his people in England. Nevertheless, at Goboto, they tried to + be gentlemen. For that matter, though something was wrong with them, they + were gentlemen, and had been gentlemen. That was why the great unwritten + rule of Goboto was that visitors should put on pants and shoes. + Breech-clouts, lava-lavas, and bare legs were not tolerated. When Captain + Jensen, the wildest of the Blackbirders though descended from old New York + Knickerbocker stock, surged in, clad in loin-cloth, undershirt, two belted + revolvers and a sheath-knife, he was stopped at the beach. This was in the + days of Johnny Bassett, ever a stickler in matters of etiquette. Captain + Jensen stood up in the sternsheets of his whaleboat and denied the + existence of pants on his schooner. Also, he affirmed his intention of + coming ashore. They of Goboto nursed him back to health from a bullet-hole + through his shoulder, and in addition handsomely begged his pardon, for no + pants had they found on his schooner. And finally, on the first day he sat + up, Johnny Bassett kindly but firmly assisted his guest into a pair of + pants of his own. This was the great precedent. In all the succeeding + years it had never been violated. White men and pants were undivorce-able. + Only niggers ran naked. Pants constituted caste. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + On this night things were, with one exception, in nowise different from + any other night. Seven of them, with glimmering eyes and steady legs, had + capped a day of Scotch with swivel-sticked cocktails and sat down to + dinner. Jacketed, trousered, and shod, they were: Jerry McMurtrey, the + manager; Eddy Little and Jack Andrews, clerks; Captain Stapler, of the + recruiting ketch <i>Merry</i>; Darby Shryleton, planter from Tito-Ito; + Peter Gee, a half-caste Chinese pearl-buyer who ranged from Ceylon to the + Paumotus, and Alfred Deacon, a visitor who had stopped off from the last + steamer. At first wine was served by the black servants to those that + drank it, though all quickly shifted back to Scotch and soda, pickling + their food as they ate it, ere it went into their calcined, pickled + stomachs. + </p> + <p> + Over their coffee, they heard the rumble of an anchor-chain through a + hawse-pipe, tokening the arrival of a vessel. + </p> + <p> + “It's David Grief,” Peter Gee remarked. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” Deacon demanded truculently, and then went on to deny + the half-caste's knowledge. “You chaps put on a lot of side over a new + chum. I've done some sailing myself, and this naming a craft when its sail + is only a blur, or naming a man by the sound of his anchor—it's—it's + unadulterated poppycock.” + </p> + <p> + Peter Gee was engaged in lighting a cigarette, and did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Some of the niggers do amazing things that way,” McMurtrey interposed + tactfully. + </p> + <p> + As with the others, this conduct of their visitor jarred on the manager. + From the moment of Peter Gee's arrival that afternoon Deacon had + manifested a tendency to pick on him. He had disputed his statements and + been generally rude. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it's because Peter's got Chink blood in him,” had been Andrews' + hypothesis. “Deacon's Australian, you know, and they're daffy down there + on colour.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy that's it,” McMurtrey had agreed. “But we can't permit any + bullying, especially of a man like Peter Gee, who's whiter than most white + men.” + </p> + <p> + In this the manager had been in nowise wrong. Peter Gee was that rare + creature, a good as well as clever Eurasian. In fact, it was the stolid + integrity of the Chinese blood that toned the recklessness and + licentiousness of the English blood which had run in his father's veins. + Also, he was better educated than any man there, spoke better English as + well as several other tongues, and knew and lived more of their own ideals + of gentlemanness than they did themselves. And, finally, he was a gentle + soul. Violence he deprecated, though he had killed men in his time. + Turbulence he abhorred. + </p> + <p> + He always avoided it as he would the plague. + </p> + <p> + Captain Stapler stepped in to help McMurtrey: + </p> + <p> + “I remember, when I changed schooners and came into Altman, the niggers + knew right off the bat it was me. I wasn't expected, either, much less to + be in another craft. They told the trader it was me. He used the glasses, + and wouldn't believe them. But they did know. Told me afterward they could + see it sticking out all over the schooner that I was running her.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon ignored him, and returned to the attack on the pearl-buyer. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know from the sound of the anchor that it was this + whatever-you-called-him man?” he challenged. + </p> + <p> + “There are so many things that go to make up such a judgment,” Peter Gee + answered. “It's very hard to explain. It would require almost a text + book.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” Deacon sneered. “Explanation that doesn't explain is + easy.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's for bridge?” Eddy Little, the second clerk, interrupted, looking up + expectantly and starting to shuffle. “You'll play, won't you, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “If he does, he's a bluffer,” Deacon cut back. “I'm getting tired of all + this poppycock. Mr. Gee, you will favour me and put yourself in a better + light if you tell how you know who that man was that just dropped anchor. + After that I'll play you piquet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd prefer bridge,” Peter answered. “As for the other thing, it's + something like this: By the sound it was a small craft—no + square-rigger. No whistle, no siren, was blown—again a small craft. + It anchored close in—still again a small craft, for steamers and big + ships must drop hook outside the middle shoal. Now the entrance is + tortuous. There is no recruiting nor trading captain in the group who + dares to run the passage after dark. Certainly no stranger would. There <i>were</i> + two exceptions. The first was Margonville. But he was executed by the High + Court at Fiji. Remains the other exception, David Grief. Night or day, in + any weather, he runs the passage. This is well known to all. A possible + factor, in case Grief were somewhere else, would be some young dare-devil + of a skipper. In this connection, in the first place, I don't know of any, + nor does anybody else. In the second place, David Grief is in these + waters, cruising on the <i>Gunga</i>, which is shortly scheduled to leave + here for Karo-Karo. I spoke to Grief, on the <i>Gunga</i>, in Sandfly + Passage, day before yesterday. He was putting a trader ashore on a new + station. He said he was going to call in at Babo, and then come on to + Goboto. He has had ample time to get here. I have heard an anchor drop. + Who else than David Grief can it be? Captain Donovan is skipper of the <i>Gunga</i>, + and him I know too well to believe that he'd run in to Goboto after dark + unless his owner were in charge. In a few minutes David Grief will enter + through that door and say, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks.' + I'll wager fifty pounds he's the man that enters and that his words will + be, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks. '” Deacon was for the + moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he's answered you,” McMurtrey laughed genially. “And I'll back his + bet myself for a couple of sovereigns.” + </p> + <p> + “Bridge! Who's going to take a hand?” Eddy Little cried impatiently. “Come + on, Peter!” + </p> + <p> + “The rest of you play,” Deacon said. “He and I are going to play piquet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd prefer bridge,” Peter Gee said mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you play piquet?” + </p> + <p> + The pearl-buyer nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then come on. Maybe I can show I know more about that than I do about + anchors.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say——” McMurtrey began. + </p> + <p> + “You can play bridge,” Deacon shut him off. “We prefer piquet.” + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly, Peter Gee was bullied into a game that he knew would be + unhappy. + </p> + <p> + “Only a rubber,” he said, as he cut for deal. + </p> + <p> + “For how much?” Deacon asked. + </p> + <p> + Peter Gee shrugged his shoulders. “As you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Hundred up—five pounds a game?” + </p> + <p> + Peter Gee agreed. + </p> + <p> + “With the lurch double, of course, ten pounds?” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Peter Gee. + </p> + <p> + At another table four of the others sat in at bridge. Captain Stapler, who + was no card-player, looked on and replenished the long glasses of Scotch + that stood at each man's right hand. McMurtrey, with poorly concealed + apprehension, followed as well as he could what went on at the piquet + table. His fellow Englishmen as well were shocked by the behaviour of the + Australian, and all were troubled by fear of some untoward act on his + part. That he was working up his animosity against the half-caste, and + that the explosion might come any time, was apparent to all. + </p> + <p> + “I hope Peter loses,” McMurtrey said in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + “Not if he has any luck,” Andrews answered. “He's a wizard at piquet. I + know by experience.” + </p> + <p> + That Peter Gee was lucky was patent from the continual badgering of + Deacon, who filled his glass frequently. He had lost the first game, and, + from his remarks, was losing the second, when the door opened and David + Grief entered. + </p> + <p> + “In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks,” he remarked casually to the + assembled company, ere he gripped the manager's hand. “Hello, Mac! Say, my + skipper's down in the whaleboat. He's got a silk shirt, a tie, and tennis + shoes, all complete, but he wants you to send a pair of pants down. Mine + are too small, but yours will fit him. Hello, Eddy! How's that <i>ngari-ngari?</i> + You up, Jock? The miracle has happened. No one down with fever, and no one + remarkably drunk.” He sighed, “I suppose the night is young yet. Hello, + Peter! Did you catch that big squall an hour after you left us? We had to + let go the second anchor.” + </p> + <p> + While he was being introduced to Deacon, McMurtrey dispatched a house-boy + with the pants, and when Captain Donovan came in it was as a white man + should—at least in Goboto. + </p> + <p> + Deacon lost the second game, and an outburst heralded the fact. Peter Gee + devoted himself to lighting a cigarette and keeping quiet. + </p> + <p> + “What?—are you quitting because you're ahead?” Deacon demanded. + </p> + <p> + Grief raised his eyebrows questioningly to McMurtrey, who frowned back his + own disgust. + </p> + <p> + “It's the rubber,” Peter Gee answered. + </p> + <p> + “It takes three games to make a rubber. It's my deal. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + Peter Gee acquiesced, and the third game was on. + </p> + <p> + “Young whelp—he needs a lacing,” McMurtrey muttered to Grief. “Come + on, let us quit, you chaps. I want to keep an eye on him. If he goes too + far I'll throw him out on the beach, company instructions or no.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” Grief queried. + </p> + <p> + “A left-over from last steamer. Company's orders to treat him nice. He's + looking to invest in a plantation. Has a ten-thousand-pound letter of + credit with the company. He's got 'all-white Australia' on the brain. + Thinks because his skin is white and because his father was once + Attorney-General of the Commonwealth that he can be a cur. That's why he's + picking on Peter, and you know Peter's the last man in the world to make + trouble or incur trouble. Damn the company. I didn't engage to wet-nurse + its infants with bank accounts. Come on, fill your glass, Grief. The man's + a blighter, a blithering blighter.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe he's only young,” Grief suggested. + </p> + <p> + “He can't contain his drink—that's clear.” The manager glared his + disgust and wrath. “If he raises a hand to Peter, so help me, I'll give + him a licking myself, the little overgrown cad!” + </p> + <p> + The pearl-buyer pulled the pegs out of the cribbage board on which he was + scoring and sat back. He had won the third game. He glanced across to Eddy + Little, saying: + </p> + <p> + “I'm ready for the bridge, now.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't be a quitter,” Deacon snarled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, really, I'm tired of the game,” Peter Gee assured him with his + habitual quietness. + </p> + <p> + “Come on and be game,” Deacon bullied. “One more. You can't take my money + that way. I'm out fifteen pounds. Double or quits.” + </p> + <p> + McMurtrey was about to interpose, but Grief restrained him with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “If it positively is the last, all right,” said Peter Gee, gathering up + the cards. “It's my deal, I believe. As I understand it, this final is for + fifteen pounds. Either you owe me thirty or we quit even?” + </p> + <p> + “That's it, chappie. Either we break even or I pay you thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “Getting blooded, eh?” Grief remarked, drawing up a chair. + </p> + <p> + The other men stood or sat around the table, and Deacon played again in + bad luck. That he was a good player was clear. The cards were merely + running against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimity + was equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snapped and + growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Gee counted out, + while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. He glowered speechlessly + at his opponent. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like a lurch,” said Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Which is double,” said Peter Gee. + </p> + <p> + “There's no need your telling me,” Deacon snarled. “I've studied + arithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!” + </p> + <p> + The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table was an + insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals of + resentment. + </p> + <p> + “You've got fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you that + much,” Deacon went on. “I could teach you cards.” + </p> + <p> + The half-caste smiled and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money. + </p> + <p> + “There's a little game called casino—I wonder if you ever heard of + it?—a child's game.” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen it played,” the half-caste murmured gently. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” snapped Deacon. “Maybe you think you can play it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not for a moment. I'm afraid I haven't head enough for it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a bully game, casino,” Grief broke in pleasantly. “I like it very + much.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon ignored him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll play you ten quid a game—thirty-one points out,” was the + challenge to Peter Gee. “And I'll show you how little you know about + cards. Come on! Where's a full deck?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks,” the half-caste answered. “They are waiting for me in order + to make up a bridge set.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, come on,” Eddy Little begged eagerly. “Come on, Peter, let's get + started.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid of a little game like casino,” Deacon girded. “Maybe the stakes + are too high. I'll play you for pennies—or farthings, if you say + so.” + </p> + <p> + The man's conduct was a hurt and an affront to all of them. McMurtrey + could stand it no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Now hold on, Deacon. He says he doesn't want to play. Let him alone.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon turned raging upon his host; but before he could blurt out his + abuse, Grief had stepped into the breach. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to play casino with you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much, but I'm willing to learn.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm not teaching for pennies to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right,” Grief answered. “I'll play for almost any sum—within + reason, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon proceeded to dispose of this intruder with one stroke. + </p> + <p> + “I'll play you a hundred pounds a game, if that will do you any good.” + </p> + <p> + Grief beamed his delight. “That will be all right, very right. Let us + begin. Do you count sweeps?” + </p> + <p> + Deacon was taken aback. He had not expected a Goboton trader to be + anything but crushed by such a proposition. + </p> + <p> + “Do you count sweeps?” Grief repeated. + </p> + <p> + Andrews had brought him a new deck, and he was throwing out the joker. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” Deacon answered. “That's a sissy game.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad,” Grief coincided. “I don't like sissy games either.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't, eh? Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll play for + five hundred pounds a game.” + </p> + <p> + Again Deacon was taken aback. + </p> + <p> + “I'm agreeable,” Grief said, beginning to shuffle. “Cards and spades go + out first, of course, and then big and little casino, and the aces in the + bridge order of value. Is that right?” + </p> + <p> + “You're a lot of jokers down here,” Deacon laughed, but his laughter was + strained. “How do I know you've got the money?” + </p> + <p> + “By the same token I know you've got it. Mac, how's my credit with the + company?” + </p> + <p> + “For all you want,” the manager answered. + </p> + <p> + “You personally guarantee that?” Deacon demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly do,” McMurtrey said. “Depend upon it, the company will honour + his paper up and past your letter of credit.” + </p> + <p> + “Low deals,” Grief said, placing the deck before Deacon on the table. + </p> + <p> + The latter hesitated in the midst of the cut and looked around with + querulous misgiving at the faces of the others. The clerks and captains + nodded. + </p> + <p> + “You're all strangers to me,” Deacon complained. “How am I to know? Money + on paper isn't always the real thing.” + </p> + <p> + Then it was that Peter Gee, drawing a wallet from his pocket and borrowing + a fountain pen from McMurtrey, went into action. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't gone to buying yet,” the half-caste explained, “so the account + is intact. I'll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It's for fifteen + thousand. There, look at it.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon intercepted the letter of credit as it was being passed across the + table. He read it slowly, then glanced up at McMurtrey. + </p> + <p> + “Is that right?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It's just the same as your own, and just as good. The company's + paper is always good.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon cut the cards, won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle. But + his luck was still against him, and he lost the game. + </p> + <p> + “Another game,” he said. “We didn't say how many, and you can't quit with + me a loser. I want action.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shuffled and passed the cards for the cut. + </p> + <p> + “Let's play for a thousand,” Deacon said, when he had lost the second + game. And when the thousand had gone the way of the two five hundred bets + he proposed to play for two thousand. + </p> + <p> + “That's progression,” McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glare from + Deacon. But the manager was insistent. “You don't have to play + progression, Grief, unless you're foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's playing this game?” Deacon flamed at his host; and then, to Grief: + “I've lost two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded, the fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifest + unfairness of such betting was known to all of them. Though he had lost + three games out of four, Deacon had lost no money. By the child's device + of doubling his wager with each loss, he was bound, with the first game he + won, no matter how long delayed, to be even again. + </p> + <p> + He now evinced an unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck to be + cut. + </p> + <p> + “What?” Deacon cried. “You want more?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't got anything yet,” Grief murmured whimsically, as he began the + deal. “For the usual five hundred, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + The shame of what he had done must have tingled in Deacon, for he + answered, “No, we'll play for a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points is + too long. Why not twenty-one points out—if it isn't too rapid for + you?” + </p> + <p> + “That will make it a nice, quick, little game,” Grief agreed. + </p> + <p> + The former method of play was repeated. Deacon lost two games, doubled the + stake, and was again even. But Grief was patient, though the thing + occurred several times in the next hour's play. Then happened what he was + waiting for—a lengthening in the series of losing games for Deacon. + The latter doubled to four thousand and lost, doubled to eight thousand + and lost, and then proposed to double to sixteen thousand. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. “You can't do that, you know. You're only ten + thousand credit with the company.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you won't give me action?” Deacon asked hoarsely. “You mean that + with eight thousand of my money you're going to quit?” + </p> + <p> + Grief smiled and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It's robbery, plain robbery,” Deacon went on. “You take my money and + won't give me action.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you're wrong. I'm perfectly willing to give you what action you've + got coming to you. You've got two thousand pounds of action yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll play it,” Deacon took him up. “You cut.” + </p> + <p> + The game was played in silence, save for irritable remarks and curses from + Deacon. Silently the onlookers filled and sipped their long Scotch + glasses. Grief took no notice of his opponent's outbursts, but + concentrated on the game. He was really playing cards, and there were + fifty-two in the deck to be kept track of, and of which he did keep track. + Two thirds of the way through the last deal he threw down his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Cards put me out,” he said. “I have twenty-seven.” + </p> + <p> + “If you've made a mistake,” Deacon threatened, his face white and drawn. + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall have lost. Count them.” + </p> + <p> + Grief passed over his stack of takings, and Deacon, with trembling + fingers, verified the count. He half shoved his chair back from the table + and emptied his glass. He looked about him at unsympathetic faces. + </p> + <p> + “I fancy I'll be catching the next steamer for Sydney,” he said, and for + the first time his speech was quiet and without bluster. + </p> + <p> + As Grief told them afterward: “Had he whined or raised a roar I wouldn't + have given him that last chance. As it was, he took his medicine like a + man, and I had to do it.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon glanced at his watch, simulated a weary yawn, and started to rise. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” Grief said. “Do you want further action?” + </p> + <p> + The other sank down in his chair, strove to speak, but could not, licked + his dry lips, and nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Donovan here sails at daylight in the <i>Gunga</i> for + Karo-Karo,” Grief began with seeming irrelevance. “Karo-Karo is a ring of + sand in the sea, with a few thousand cocoa-nut trees. Pandanus grows + there, but they can't grow sweet potatoes nor taro. There aremabout eight + hundred natives, a king and two prime ministers, and the last three named + are the only ones who wear any clothes. It's a sort of God-forsaken little + hole, and once a year I send a schooner up from Goboto. The drinking water + is brackish, but old Tom Butler has survived on it for a dozen years. He's + the only white man there, and he has a boat's crew of five Santa Cruz boys + who would run away or kill him if they could. That is why they were sent + there. They can't run away. He is always supplied with the hard cases from + the plantations. There are no missionaries. Two native Samoan teachers + were clubbed to death on the beach when they landed several years ago. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally, you are wondering what it is all about. But have patience. As + I have said, Captain Donovan sails on the annual trip to Karo-Karo at + daylight to-morrow. Tom Butler is old, and getting quite helpless. I've + tried to retire him to Australia, but he says he wants to remain and die + on Karo-Karo, and he will in the next year or so. He's a queer old codger. + Now the time is due for me to send some white man up to take the work off + his hands. I wonder how you'd like the job. You'd have to stay two years. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on! I've not finished. You've talked frequently of action this + evening. There's no action in betting away what you've never sweated for. + The money you've lost to me was left you by your father or some other + relative who did the sweating. But two years of work as trader on + Karo-Karo would mean something. I'll bet the ten thousand I've won from + you against two years of your time. If you win, the money's yours. If you + lose, you take the job at Karo-Karo and sail at daylight. Now that's what + might be called real action. Will you play?” + </p> + <p> + Deacon could not speak. His throat lumped and he nodded his head as he + reached for the cards. + </p> + <p> + “One thing more,” Grief said. “I can do even better. If you lose, two + years of your time are mine—naturally without wages. Nevertheless, + I'll pay you wages. If your work is satisfactory, if you observe all + instructions and rules, I'll pay you five thousand pounds a year for two + years. The money will be deposited with the company, to be paid to you, + with interest, when the time expires. Is that all right?” + </p> + <p> + “Too much so,” Deacon stammered. “You are unfair to yourself. A trader + only gets ten or fifteen pounds a month.” + </p> + <p> + “Put it down to action, then,” Grief said, with an air of dismissal. “And + before we begin, I'll jot down several of the rules. These you will repeat + aloud every morning during the two years—if you lose. They are for + the good of your soul. When you have repeated them aloud seven hundred and + thirty Karo-Karo mornings I am confident they will be in your memory to + stay. Lend me your pen, Mac. Now, let's see——” + </p> + <p> + He wrote steadily and rapidly for some minutes, then proceeded to read the + matter aloud: + </p> + <p> + “<i>I must always remember that one man is as good as another, save and + except when he thinks he is better.</i> + </p> + <p> + “<i>No matter how drunk I am I must not fail to be a gentleman. A + gentleman is a man who is gentle. Note: It would be better not to get + drunk</i>. + </p> + <p> + “<i>When I play a man's game with men, I must play like a man</i>. + </p> + <p> + “<i>A good curse, rightly used and rarely, is an efficient thing. Too many + curses spoil the cursing. Note: A curse cannot change a card seguence nor + cause the wind to blow.</i> + </p> + <p> + “<i>There is no license for a man to be less than a man. Ten thousand + pounds cannot purchase such a license.</i>” + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of the reading Deacon's face had gone white with anger. + Then had arisen, from neck to forehead, a slow and terrible flush that + deepened to the end of the reading. + </p> + <p> + “There, that will be all,” Grief said, as he folded the paper and tossed + it to the centre of the table. “Are you still ready to play the game?” + </p> + <p> + “I deserve it,” Deacon muttered brokenly. “I've been an ass. Mr. Gee, + before I know whether I win or lose, I want to apologize. Maybe it was the + whiskey, I don't know, but I'm an ass, a cad, a bounder—everything + that's rotten.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand, and the half-caste took it beamingly. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Grief,” he blurted out, “the boy's all right. Call the whole thing + off, and let's forget it in a final nightcap.” + </p> + <p> + Grief showed signs of debating, but Deacon cried: + </p> + <p> + “No; I won't permit it. I'm not a quitter. If it's Karo-Karo, it's + Karo-Karo. There's nothing more to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Right,” said Grief, as he began the shuffle. “If he's the right stuff to + go to Karo-Karo, Karo-Karo won't do him any harm.” + </p> + <p> + The game was close and hard. Three times they divided the deck between + them and “cards” was not scored. At the beginning of the fifth and last + deal, Deacon needed three points to go out, and Grief needed four. “Cards” + alone would put Deacon out, and he played for “cards”. He no longer + muttered or cursed, and played his best game of the evening. Incidentally + he gathered in the two black aces and the ace of hearts. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you can name the four cards I hold,” he challenged, as the last + of the deal was exhausted and he picked up his hand. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then name them.” + </p> + <p> + “The knave of spades, the deuce of spades, the tray of hearts, and the ace + of diamonds,” Grief answered. + </p> + <p> + Those behind Deacon and looking at his hand made no sign. Yet the naming + had been correct. + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you play casino better than I,” Deacon acknowledged. “I can name + only three of yours, a knave, an ace, and big casino.” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong. There aren't five aces in the deck. You've taken in three and you + hold the fourth in your hand now.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, you're right,” Deacon admitted. “I did scoop in three. Anyway, + I'll make 'cards' on you. That's all I need.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll let you save little casino——” Grief paused to calculate. + “Yes, and the ace as well, and still I'll make 'cards' and go out with big + casino. Play.” + </p> + <p> + “No 'cards' and I win!” Deacon exulted as the last of the hand was played. + “I go out on little casino and the four aces. 'Big casino' and 'spades' + only bring you to twenty.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. “Some mistake, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Deacon declared positively. “I counted every card I took in. That's + the one thing I was correct on. I've twenty-six, and you've twenty-six.” + </p> + <p> + “Count again,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + Carefully and slowly, with trembling fingers, Deacon counted the cards he + had taken. There were twenty-five. He reached over to the corner of the + table, took up the rules Grief had written, folded them, and put them in + his pocket. Then he emptied his glass, and stood up. Captain Donovan + looked at his watch, yawned, and also arose. + </p> + <p> + “Going aboard, Captain?” Deacon asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the answer. “What time shall I send the whaleboat for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go with you now. We'll pick up my luggage from the <i>Billy</i> as + we go by, I was sailing on her for Babo in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon shook hands all around, after receiving a final pledge of good luck + on Karo-Karo. + </p> + <p> + “Does Tom Butler play cards?” he asked Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Solitaire,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll teach him double solitaire.” Deacon turned toward the door, + where Captain Donovan waited, and added with a sigh, “And I fancy he'll + skin me, too, if he plays like the rest of you island men.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Seven—THE FEATHERS OF THE SUN + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + It was the island of Fitu-Iva—the last independent Polynesian + stronghold in the South Seas. Three factors conduced to Fitu-Iva's + independence. The first and second were its isolation and the warlikeness + of its population. But these would not have saved it in the end had it not + been for the fact that Japan, France, Great Britain, Germany, and the + United States discovered its desirableness simultaneously. It was like + gamins scrambling for a penny. They got in one another's way. The war + vessels of the five Powers cluttered Fitu-Iva's one small harbour. There + were rumours of war and threats of war. Over its morning toast all the + world read columns about Fitu-Iva. As a Yankee blue jacket epitomized it + at the time, they all got their feet in the trough at once. + </p> + <p> + So it was that Fitu-Iva escaped even a joint protectorate, and King + Tulifau, otherwise Tui Tulifau, continued to dispense the high justice and + the low in the frame-house palace built for him by a Sydney trader out of + California redwood. Not only was Tui Tulifau every inch a king, but he was + every second a king. When he had ruled fifty-eight years and five months, + he was only fifty-eight years and three months old. That is to say, he had + ruled over five million seconds more than he had breathed, having been + crowned two months before he was born. + </p> + <p> + He was a kingly king, a royal figure of a man, standing six feet and a + half, and, without being excessively fat, weighing three hundred and + twenty pounds. But this was not unusual for Polynesian “chief stock.” + Sepeli, his queen, was six feet three inches and weighed two hundred and + sixty, while her brother, Uiliami, who commanded the army in the intervals + of resignation from the premiership, topped her by an inch and notched her + an even half-hundredweight. Tui Tulifau was a merry soul, a great feaster + and drinker. So were all his people merry souls, save in anger, when, on + occasion, they could be guilty even of throwing dead pigs at those who + made them wroth. Nevertheless, on occasion, they could fight like Maoris, + as piratical sandalwood traders and Blackbirders in the old days learned + to their cost. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Grief's schooner, the <i>Cantani</i>, had passed the Pillar Rocks at the + entrance two hours before and crept up the harbour to the whispering + flutters of a breeze that could not make up its mind to blow. It was a + cool, starlight evening, and they lolled about the poop waiting till their + snail's pace would bring them to the anchorage. Willie Smee, the + supercargo, emerged from the cabin, conspicuous in his shore clothes. The + mate glanced at his shirt, of the finest and whitest silk, and giggled + significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Dance, to-night, I suppose?” Grief observed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the mate. “It's Taitua. Willie's stuck on her.” + </p> + <p> + “Catch me,” the supercargo disclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Then she's stuck on you, and it's all the same,” the mate went on. “You + won't be ashore half an hour before you'll have a flower behind your ear, + a wreath on your head, and your arm around Taitua.” + </p> + <p> + “Simple jealousy,” Willie Smee sniffed. “You'd like to have her yourself, + only you can't.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't find shirts like that, that's why. I'll bet you half a crown you + won't sail from Fitu-Iva with that shirt.” + </p> + <p> + “And if Taitua doesn't get it, it's an even break Tui Tulifau does,” Grief + warned. “Better not let him spot that shirt, or it's all day with it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” Captain Boig agreed, turning his head from watching the + house lights on the shore. “Last voyage he fined one of my Kanakas out of + a fancy belt and sheath-knife.” He turned to the mate. “You can let go any + time, Mr. Marsh. Don't give too much slack. There's no sign of wind, and + in the morning we may shift opposite the copra-sheds.” + </p> + <p> + A minute later the anchor rumbled down. The whaleboat, already hoisted + out, lay alongside, and the shore-going party dropped into it. Save for + the Kanakas, who were all bent for shore, only Grief and the supercargo + were in the boat. At the head of the little coral-stone pier Willie Smee, + with an apologetic gurgle, separated from his employer and disappeared + down an avenue of palms. Grief turned in the opposite direction past the + front of the old mission church. Here, among the graves on the beach, + lightly clad in <i>ahu's</i> and <i>lava-lavas</i>, flower-crowned and + garlanded, with great phosphorescent hibiscus blossoms in their hair, + youths and maidens were dancing. Farther on, Grief passed the long, + grass-built <i>himine</i> house, where a few score of the elders sat in + long rows chanting the old hymns taught them by forgotten missionaries. He + passed also the palace of Tui Tulifau, where, by the lights and sounds, he + knew the customary revelry was going on. For of the happy South Sea isles, + Fitu-Iva was the happiest. They feasted and frolicked at births and + deaths, and the dead and the unborn were likewise feasted. + </p> + <p> + Grief held steadily along the Broom Road, which curved and twisted through + a lush growth of flowers and fern-like algarobas. The warm air was rich + with perfume, and overhead, outlined against the stars, were + fruit-burdened mangoes, stately avocado trees, and slender-tufted palms. + Every here and there were grass houses. Voices and laughter rippled + through the darkness. Out on the water flickering lights and soft-voiced + choruses marked the fishers returning from the reef. + </p> + <p> + At last Grief stepped aside from the road, stumbling over a pig that + grunted indignantly. Looking through an open door, he saw a stout and + elderly native sitting on a heap of mats a dozen deep. From time to time, + automatically, he brushed his naked legs with a cocoa-nut-fibre + fly-flicker. He wore glasses, and was reading methodically in what Grief + knew to be an English Bible. For this was Ieremia, his trader, so named + from the prophet Jeremiah. + </p> + <p> + Ieremia was lighter-skinned than the Fitu-Ivans, as was natural in a + full-blooded Samoan. Educated by the missionaries, as lay teacher he had + served their cause well over in the cannibal atolls to the westward. As a + reward, he had been sent to the paradise of Fitu-Iva, where all were or + had been good converts, to gather in the backsliders. Unfortunately, + Ieremia had become too well educated. A stray volume of Darwin, a nagging + wife, and a pretty Fitu-Ivan widow had driven him into the ranks of the + backsliders. It was not a case of apostasy. The effect of Darwin had been + one of intellectual fatigue. What was the use of trying to understand this + vastly complicated and enigmatical world, especially when one was married + to a nagging woman? As Ieremia slackened in his labours, the mission board + threatened louder and louder to send him back to the atolls, while his + wife's tongue grew correspondingly sharper. Tui Tulifau was a sympathetic + monarch, whose queen, on occasions when he was particularly drunk, was + known to beat him. For political reasons—the queen belonging to as + royal stock as himself and her brother commanding the army—Tui + Tulifau could not divorce her, but he could and did divorce Ieremia, who + promptly took up with commercial life and the lady of his choice. As an + independent trader he had failed, chiefly because of the disastrous + patronage of Tui Tulifau. To refuse credit to that merry monarch was to + invite confiscation; to grant him credit was certain bankruptcy. After a + year's idleness on the beach, leremia had become David Grief's trader, and + for a dozen years his service had been honourable and efficient, for Grief + had proven the first man who successfully refused credit to the king or + who collected when it had been accorded. + </p> + <p> + Ieremia looked gravely over the rims of his glasses when his employer + entered, gravely marked the place in the Bible and set it aside, and + gravely shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you came in person,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “How else could I come?” Grief laughed. + </p> + <p> + But Ieremia had no sense of humour, and he ignored the remark. + </p> + <p> + “The commercial situation on the island is damn bad,” he said with great + solemnity and an unctuous mouthing of the many-syllabled words. “My ledger + account is shocking.” + </p> + <p> + “Trade bad?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary. It has been excellent. The shelves are empty, + exceedingly empty. But——” His eyes glistened proudly. “But + there are many goods remaining in the storehouse; I have kept it carefully + locked.” + </p> + <p> + “Been allowing Tui Tulifau too much credit?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary. There has been no credit at all. And every old account + has been settled up.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't follow you, Ieremia,” Grief confessed. “What's the joke?—shelves + empty, no credit, old accounts all square, storehouse carefully locked—what's + the answer?” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia did not reply immediately. Reaching under the rear corner of the + mats, he drew forth a large cash-box. Grief noted and wondered that it was + not locked. The Samoan had always been fastidiously cautious in guarding + cash. The box seemed filled with paper money. He skinned off the top note + and passed it over. + </p> + <p> + “There is the answer.” + </p> + <p> + Grief glanced at a fairly well executed banknote. “<i>The First Royal Bank + of Fitu-Iva will pay to bearer on demand one pound sterling</i>,” he read. + In the centre was the smudged likeness of a native face. At the bottom was + the signature of Tui Tulifau, and the signature of Fulualea, with the + printed information appended, “<i>Chancellor of the Exchequer.</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Who the deuce is Fulualea?” Grief demanded. “It's Fijian, isn't it?—meaning + the feathers of the sun?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. It means the feathers of the sun. Thus does this base interloper + caption himself. He has come up from Fiji to turn Fitu-Iva upside down—that + is, commercially.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one of those smart Levuka boys, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia shook his head sadly. “No, this low fellow is a white man and a + scoundrel. He has taken a noble and high-sounding Fijian name and dragged + it in the dirt to suit his nefarious purposes. He has made Tui Tulifau + drunk. He has made him very drunk. He has kept him very drunk all the + time. In return, he has been made Chancellor of the Exchequer and other + things. He has issued this false paper and compelled the people to receive + it. He has levied a store tax, a copra tax, and a tobacco tax. There are + harbour dues and regulations, and other taxes. But the people are not + taxed—only the traders. When the copra tax was levied, I lowered the + purchasing price accordingly. Then the people began to grumble, and + Feathers of the Sun passed a new law, setting the old price back and + forbidding any man to lower it. Me he fined two pounds and five pigs, it + being well known that I possessed five pigs. You will find them entered in + the ledger. Hawkins, who is trader for the Fulcrum Company, was fined + first pigs, then gin, and, because he continued to make loud conversation, + the army came and burned his store. When I declined to sell, this Feathers + of the Sun fined me once more and promised to burn the store if again I + offended. So I sold all that was on the shelves, and there is the box full + of worthless paper. I shall be chagrined if you pay me my salary in paper, + but it would be just, no more than just. Now, what is to be done?” + </p> + <p> + Grief shrugged his shoulders. “I must first see this Feathers of the Sun + and size up the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must see him soon,” Ieremia advised. “Else he will have an + accumulation of many fines against you. Thus does he absorb all the coin + of the realm. He has it all now, save what has been buried in the ground.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + On his way back along the Broom Road, under the lighted lamps that marked + the entrance to the palace grounds, Grief encountered a short, rotund + gentleman, in unstarched ducks, smooth-shaven and of florid complexion, + who was just emerging. Something about his tentative, saturated gait was + familiar. Grief knew it on the instant. On the beaches of a dozen South + Sea ports had he seen it before. + </p> + <p> + “Of all men, Cornelius Deasy!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “If it ain't Grief himself, the old devil,” was the return greeting, as + they shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll come on board I've some choice smoky Irish,” Grief invited. + </p> + <p> + Cornelius threw back his shoulders and stiffened. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing doin', Mr. Grief. 'Tis Fulualea I am now. No blarneyin' of old + times for me. Also, and by the leave of his gracious Majesty King Tulifau, + 'tis Chancellor of the Exchequer I am, an' Chief Justice I am, save in + moments of royal sport when the king himself chooses to toy with the + wheels of justice.” + </p> + <p> + Grief whistled his amazement. “So you're Feathers of the Sun!” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer the native idiom,” was the correction. “Fulualea, an' it please + you. Not forgettin' old times, Mr. Grief, it sorrows the heart of me to + break you the news. You'll have to pay your legitimate import duties same + as any other trader with mind intent on robbin' the gentle Polynesian + savage on coral isles implanted. ——Where was I? Ah! I + remember. You've violated the regulations. With malice intent have you + entered the port of Fitu-Iva after sunset without sidelights burnin'. + Don't interrupt. With my own eyes did I see you. For which offence are you + fined the sum of five pounds. Have you any gin? 'Tis a serious offence. + Not lightly are the lives of the mariners of our commodious port to be + risked for the savin' of a penny'orth of oil. Did I ask: have you any gin? + Tis the harbour master that asks.” + </p> + <p> + “You've taken a lot on your shoulders,” Grief grinned. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis the white man's burden. These rapscallion traders have been puttin' + it all over poor Tui Tulif, the best-hearted old monarch that ever sat a + South Sea throne an' mopped grog-root from the imperial calabash. 'Tis I, + Cornelius—Fulualea, rather—that am here to see justice done. + Much as I dislike the doin' of it, as harbour master 'tis my duty to find + you guilty of breach of quarantine.” + </p> + <p> + “Quarantine?” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis the rulin' of the port doctor. No intercourse with the shore till + the ship is passed. What dire calamity to the confidin' native if chicken + pox or whoopin' cough was aboard of you! Who is there to protect the + gentle, confidin' Polynesian? I, Fulualea, the Feathers of the Sun, on my + high mission.” + </p> + <p> + “Who in hell is the port doctor?” Grief queried. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis me, Fulualea. Your offence is serious. Consider yourself fined five + cases of first-quality Holland gin.” + </p> + <p> + Grief laughed heartily. “We'll compromise, Cornelius. Come aboard and have + a drink.” + </p> + <p> + The Feathers of the Sun waved the proffer aside grandly. “'Tis bribery. + I'll have none of it—me faithful to my salt. And wherefore did you + not present your ship's papers? As chief of the custom house you are fined + five pounds and two more cases of gin.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Cornelius. A joke's a joke, but this one has gone far enough. + This is not Levuka. I've half a mind to pull your nose for you. You can't + buck me.” + </p> + <p> + The Feathers of the Sun retreated unsteadily and in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Lay no violence on me,” he threatened. “You're right. This is not Levuka. + And by the same token, with Tui Tulifau and the royal army behind me, buck + you is just the thing I can and will. You'll pay them fines promptly, or + I'll confiscate your vessel. You're not the first. What does that Chink + pearl-buyer, Peter Gee, do but slip into harbour, violatin' all + regulations an' makin' rough house for the matter of a few paltry fines. + No; he wouldn't pay 'em, and he's on the beach now thinkin' it over.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say——” + </p> + <p> + “Sure an' I do. In the high exercise of office I seized his schooner. A + fifth of the loyal army is now in charge on board of her. She'll be sold + this day week. Some ten tons of shell in the hold, and I'm wonderin' if I + can trade it to you for gin. I can promise you a rare bargain. How much + gin did you say you had?” + </p> + <p> + “Still more gin, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “An' why not? 'Tis a royal souse is Tui Tulifau. Sure it keeps my wits + workin' overtime to supply him, he's that amazin' liberal with it. The + whole gang of hanger-on chiefs is perpetually loaded to the guards. It's + disgraceful. Are you goin' to pay them fines, Mr. Grief, or is it to + harsher measures I'll be forced?” + </p> + <p> + Grief turned impatiently on his heel. + </p> + <p> + “Cornelius, you're drunk. Think it over and come to your senses. The old + rollicking South Sea days are gone. You can't play tricks like that now.” + </p> + <p> + “If you think you're goin' on board, Mr. Grief, I'll save you the trouble. + I know your kind, I foresaw your stiff-necked stubbornness. An' it's + forestalled you are. 'Tis on the beach you'll find your crew. The vessel's + seized.” + </p> + <p> + Grief turned back on him in the half-belief still that he was joking. + Fulualea again retreated in alarm. The form of a large man loomed beside + him in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Uiliami?” Fulualea crooned. “Here is another sea pirate. Stand + by me with the strength of thy arm, O Herculean brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Greeting, Uiliami,” Grief said. “Since when has Fitu-Iva come to be run + by a Levuka beachcomber? He says my schooner has been seized. Is it true?” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” Uiliami boomed from his deep chest. “Have you any more silk + shirts like Willie Smee's? Tui Tulifau would like such a shirt. He has + heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis all the same,” Fulualea interrupted. “Shirts or schooners, the king + shall have them.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather high-handed, Cornelius,” Grief murmured. “It's rank piracy. You + seized my vessel without giving me a chance.” + </p> + <p> + “A chance is it? As we stood here, not five minutes gone, didn't you + refuse to pay your fines?” + </p> + <p> + “But she was already seized.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, an' why not? Didn't I know you'd refuse? 'Tis all fair, an' no + injustice done—Justice, the bright, particular star at whose shining + altar Cornelius Deasy—or Fulualea, 'tis the same thing—ever + worships. Get thee gone, Mr. Trader, or I'll set the palace guards on you. + Uiliami, 'tis a desperate character, this trader man. Call the guards.” + </p> + <p> + Uiliami blew the whistle suspended on his broad bare chest by a cord of + cocoanut sennit. Grief reached out an angry hand for Cornelius, who + titubated into safety behind Uiliami's massive bulk. A dozen strapping + Polynesians, not one under six feet, ran down the palace walk and ranged + behind their commander. + </p> + <p> + “Get thee gone, Mr. Trader,” Cornelius ordered. “The interview is + terminated. We'll try your several cases in the mornin'. Appear promptly + at the palace at ten o'clock to answer to the followin' charges, to wit: + breach of the peace; seditious and treasonable utterance; violent assault + on the chief magistrate with intent to cut, wound, maim, an' bruise; + breach of quarantine; violation of harbour regulations; and gross breakage + of custom house rules. In the mornin', fellow, in the mornin', justice + shall be done while the breadfruit falls. And the Lord have mercy on your + soul.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Before the hour set for the trial Grief, accompanied by Peter Gee, won + access to Tui Tulifau. The king, surrounded by half a dozen chiefs, lay on + mats under the shade of the avocados in the palace compound. Early as was + the hour, palace maids were industriously serving squarefaces of gin. The + king was glad to see his old friend Davida, and regretful that he had run + foul of the new regulations. Beyond that he steadfastly avoided discussion + of the matter in hand. All protests of the expropriated traders were + washed away in proffers of gin. “Have a drink,” was his invariable reply, + though once he unbosomed himself enough to say that Feathers of the Sun + was a wonderful man. Never had palace affairs been so prosperous. Never + had there been so much money in the treasury, nor so much gin in + circulation. “Well pleased am I with Fulualea,” he concluded. “Have a + drink.” + </p> + <p> + “We've got to get out of this <i>pronto</i>,” Grief whispered to Peter Gee + a few minutes later, “or we'll be a pair of boiled owls. Also, I am to be + tried for arson, or heresy, or leprosy, or something, in a few minutes, + and I must control my wits.” + </p> + <p> + As they withdrew from the royal presence, Grief caught a glimpse of + Sepeli, the queen. She was peering out at her royal spouse and his fellow + tipplers, and the frown on her face gave Grief his cue. Whatever was to be + accomplished must be through her. + </p> + <p> + In another shady corner of the big compound Cornelius was holding court. + He had been at it early, for when Grief arrived the case of Willie Smee + was being settled. The entire royal army, save that portion in charge of + the seized vessels, was in attendance. + </p> + <p> + “Let the defendant stand up,” said Cornelius, “and receive the just and + merciful sentence of the Court for licentious and disgraceful conduct + unbecomin' a supercargo. The defendant says he has no money. Very well. + The Court regrets it has no calaboose. In lieu thereof, and in view of the + impoverished condition of the defendant, the Court fines said defendant + one white silk shirt of the same kind, make and quality at present worn by + defendant.” + </p> + <p> + Cornelius nodded to several of the soldiers, who led the supercargo away + behind an avocado tree. A minute later he emerged, minus the garment in + question, and sat down beside Grief. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been up to?” Grief asked. + </p> + <p> + “Blessed if I know. What crimes have you committed?” + </p> + <p> + “Next case,” said Cornelius in his most extra-legal tones. “David Grief, + defendant, stand up. The Court has considered the evidence in the case, or + cases, and renders the following judgment, to wit:—Shut up!” he + thundered at Grief, who had attempted to interrupt. “I tell you the + evidence has been considered, deeply considered. It is no wish of the + Court to lay additional hardship on the defendant, and the Court takes + this opportunity to warn the defendant that he is liable for contempt. For + open and wanton violation of harbour rules and regulations, breach of + quarantine, and disregard of shipping laws, his schooner, the <i>Cantani</i>, + is hereby declared confiscated to the Government of Fitu-Iva, to be sold + at public auction, ten days from date, with all appurtenances, fittings, + and cargo thereunto pertaining. For the personal crimes of the defendant, + consisting of violent and turbulent conduct and notorious disregard of the + laws of the realm, he is fined in the sum of one hundred pounds sterling + and fifteen cases of gin. I will not ask you if you have anything to say. + But will you pay? That is the question.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime,” Cornelius went on, “consider yourself a prisoner at + large. There is no calaboose in which to confine you. And finally, it has + come to the knowledge of the Court, that at an early hour of this morning, + the defendant did wilfully and deliberately send Kanakas in his employ out + on the reef to catch fish for breakfast. This is distinctly an + infringement of the rights of the fisherfolk of Fitu-Iva. Home industries + must be protected. This conduct of the defendant is severely reprehended + by the Court, and on any repetition of the offence the offender and + offenders, all and sundry, shall be immediately put to hard labour on the + improvement of the Broom Road. The court is dismissed.” + </p> + <p> + As they left the compound, Peter Gee nudged Grief to look where Tui + Tulifau reclined on the mats. The supercargo's shirt, stretched and + bulged, already encased the royal fat. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + “The thing is clear,” said Peter Gee, at a conference in Ieremia's house. + “Deasy has about gathered in all the coin. In the meantime he keeps the + king going on the gin he's captured, on our vessels. As soon as he can + maneuver it he'll take the cash and skin out on your craft or mine.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a low fellow,” Ieremia declared, pausing in the polishing of his + spectacles. “He is a scoundrel and a blackguard. He should be struck by a + dead pig, by a particularly dead pig.” + </p> + <p> + “The very thing,” said Grief. “He shall be struck by a dead pig. Ieremia, + I should not be surprised if you were the man to strike him with the dead + pig. Be sure and select a particularly dead one. Tui Tulifau is down at + the boat house broaching a case of my Scotch. I'm going up to the palace + to work kitchen politics with the queen. In the meantime you get a few + things on your shelves from the store-room. I'll lend you some, Hawkins. + And you, Peter, see the German store. Start in all of you, selling for + paper. Remember, I'll back the losses. If I'm not mistaken, in three days + we'll have a national council or a revolution. You, Ieremia, start + messengers around the island to the fishers and farmers, everywhere, even + to the mountain goat-hunters. Tell them to assemble at the palace three + days from now.” + </p> + <p> + “But the soldiers,” Ieremia objected. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take care of them. They haven't been paid for two months. Besides, + Uiliami is the queen's brother. Don't have too much on your shelves at a + time. As soon as the soldiers show up with paper, stop selling.” + </p> + <p> + “Then will they burn the stores,” said Ieremia. + </p> + <p> + “Let them. King Tulifau will pay for it if they do.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he pay for my shirt?” Willie Smee demanded. + </p> + <p> + “That is purely a personal and private matter between you and Tui + Tulifau,” Grief answered. + </p> + <p> + “It's beginning to split up the back,” the supercargo lamented. “I noticed + that much this morning when he hadn't had it on ten minutes. It cost me + thirty shillings and I only wore it once.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall I get a dead pig?” Ieremia asked. + </p> + <p> + “Kill one, of course,” said Grief. “Kill a small one.” + </p> + <p> + “A small one is worth ten shillings.” + </p> + <p> + “Then enter it in your ledger under operating expenses.” Grief paused a + moment. “If you want it particularly dead, it would be well to kill it at + once.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + “You have spoken well, Davida,” said Queen Sepeli. “This Fulualea has + brought a madness with him, and Tui Tulifau is drowned in gin. If he does + not grant the big council, I shall give him a beating. He is easy to beat + when he is in drink.” + </p> + <p> + She doubled up her fist, and such were her Amazonian proportions and the + determination in her face that Grief knew the council would be called. So + akin was the Fitu-Ivan tongue to the Samoan that he spoke it like a + native. + </p> + <p> + “And you, Uiliami,” he said, “have pointed out that the soldiers have + demanded coin and refused the paper Fulualea has offered them. Tell them + to take the paper and see that they be paid to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Why trouble?” Uiliami objected. “The king remains happily drunk. There is + much money in the treasury. And I am content. In my house are two cases of + gin and much goods from Hawkins's store.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent pig, O my brother!” Sepeli erupted. “Has not Davida spoken? + Have you no ears? When the gin and the goods in your house are gone, and + no more traders come with gin and goods, and Feathers of the Sun has run + away to Levuka with all the cash money of Fitu-Iva, what then will you do? + Cash money is silver and gold, but paper is only paper. I tell you the + people are grumbling. There is no fish in the palace. Yams and sweet + potatoes seem to have fled from the soil, for they come not. The mountain + dwellers have sent no wild goat in a week. Though Feathers of the Sun + compels the traders to buy copra at the old price, the people sell not, + for they will have none of the paper money. Only to-day have I sent + messengers to twenty houses. There are no eggs. Has Feathers of the Sun + put a blight upon the hens? I do not know. All I know is that there are no + eggs. Well it is that those who drink much eat little, else would there be + a palace famine. Tell your soldiers to receive their pay. Let it be in his + paper money.” + </p> + <p> + “And remember,” Grief warned, “though there be selling in the stores, when + the soldiers come with their paper it will be refused. And in three days + will be the council, and Feathers of the Sun will be as dead as a dead + pig.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The day of the council found the population of the island crowded into the + capital. By canoe and whaleboat, on foot and donkey-back, the five + thousand inhabitants of Fitu-Iva had trooped in. The three intervening + days had had their share of excitement. At first there had been much + selling from the sparse shelves of the traders. But when the soldiers + appeared, their patronage was declined and they were told to go to + Fulualea for coin. “Says it not so on the face of the paper,” the traders + demanded, “that for the asking the coin will be given in exchange?” + </p> + <p> + Only the strong authority of Uiliami had prevented the burning of the + traders' houses. As it was, one of Grief's copra-sheds went up in smoke + and was duly charged by Ieremia to the king's account. Ieremia himself had + been abused and mocked, and his spectacles broken. The skin was off Willie + Smee's knuckles. This had been caused by three boisterous soldiers who + violently struck their jaws thereon in quick succession. Captain Boig was + similarly injured. Peter Gee had come off undamaged, because it chanced + that it was bread-baskets and not jaws that struck him on the fists. + </p> + <p> + Tui Tulifau, with Sepeli at his side and surrounded by his convivial + chiefs, sat at the head of the council in the big compound. His right eye + and jaw were swollen as if he too had engaged in assaulting somebody's + fist. It was palace gossip that morning that Sepeli had administered a + conjugal beating. At any rate, her spouse was sober, and his fat bulged + spiritlessly through the rips in Willie Smee's silk shirt. His thirst was + prodigious, and he was continually served with young drinking nuts. + Outside the compound, held back by the army, was the mass of the common + people. Only the lesser chiefs, village maids, village beaux, and talking + men with their staffs of office were permitted inside. Cornelius Deasy, as + befitted a high and favoured official, sat near to the right hand of the + king. On the left of the queen, opposite Cornelius and surrounded by the + white traders he was to represent, sat Ieremia. Bereft of his spectacles, + he peered short-sightedly across at the Chancellor of the Exchequer. + </p> + <p> + In turn, the talking man of the windward coast, the talking man of the + leeward coast, and the talking man of the mountain villages, each backed + by his group of lesser talking men and chiefs, arose and made oration. + What they said was much the same. They grumbled about the paper money. + Affairs were not prosperous. No more copra was being smoked. The people + were suspicious. To such a pass had things come that all people wanted to + pay their debts and no one wanted to be paid. Creditors made a practice of + running away from debtors. The money was cheap. Prices were going up and + commodities were getting scarce. It cost three times the ordinary price to + buy a fowl, and then it was tough and like to die of old age if not + immediately sold. The outlook was gloomy. There were signs and omens. + There was a plague of rats in some districts. The crops were bad. The + custard apples were small. The best-bearing avocado on the windward coast + had mysteriously shed all its leaves. The taste had gone from the mangoes. + The plantains were eaten by a worm. The fish had forsaken the ocean and + vast numbers of tiger-sharks appeared. The wild goats had fled to + inaccessible summits. The poi in the poi-pits had turned bitter. There + were rumblings in the mountains, night-walking of spirits; a woman of + Punta-Puna had been struck speechless, and a five-legged she-goat had been + born in the village of Eiho. And that all was due to the strange money of + Fulualea was the firm conviction of the elders in the village councils + assembled. + </p> + <p> + Uiliami spoke for the army. His men were discontented and mutinous. Though + by royal decree the traders were bidden accept the money, yet did they + refuse it. He would not say, but it looked as if the strange money of + Fulualea had something to do with it. + </p> + <p> + Ieremia, as talking man of the traders, next spoke. When he arose, it was + noticeable that he stood with legs spraddled over a large grass basket. He + dwelt upon the cloth of the traders, its variety and beauty and + durability, which so exceeded the Fitu-Ivan wet-pounded tapa, fragile and + coarse. No one wore tapa any more. Yet all had worn tapa, and nothing but + tapa, before the traders came. There was the mosquito-netting, sold for a + song, that the cleverest Fitu-Ivan net-weaver could not duplicate in a + thousand years. He enlarged on the incomparable virtues of rifles, axes, + and steel fishhooks, down through needles, thread and cotton fish-lines to + white flour and kerosene oil. + </p> + <p> + He expounded at length, with firstlies and secondlies and all minor + subdivisions of argument, on organization, and order, and civilization. He + contended that the trader was the bearer of civilization, and that the + trader must be protected in his trade else he would not come. Over to the + westward were islands which would not protect the traders. What was the + result? The traders would not come, and the people were like wild animals. + They wore no clothes, no silk shirts (here he peered and blinked + significantly at the king), and they ate one another. + </p> + <p> + The queer paper of the Feathers of the Sun was not money. The traders knew + what money was, and they would not receive it. If Fitu-Iva persisted in + trying to make them receive it they would go away and never come back. And + then the Fitu-Ivans, who had forgotten how to make tapa, would run around + naked and eat one another. + </p> + <p> + Much more he said, talking a solid hour, and always coming back to what + their dire condition would be when the traders came no more. “And in that + day,” he perorated, “how will the Fitu-Ivan be known in the great world? + <i>Kai-kanak</i>* will men call him. '<i>Kiakanak! Kai-kanak!</i>” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Man-eater. +</pre> + <p> + Tui Tulifau spoke briefly. The case had been presented, he said, for the + people, the army, and the traders. It was now time for Feathers of the Sun + to present his side. It could not be denied that he had wrought wonders + with his financial system. “Many times has he explained to me the working + of his system,” Tui Tulif au concluded. “It is very simple. And now he + will explain it to you.” + </p> + <p> + It was a conspiracy of the white traders, Cornelius contended. Ieremia was + right so far as concerned the manifold blessings of white flour and + kerosene oil. Fitu-Iva did not want to become <i>kai-kanak</i>. Fitu-Iva + wanted civilization; it wanted more and more civilization. Now that was + the very point, and they must follow him closely. Paper money was an + earmark of higher civilization. That was why he, the Feathers of the Sun, + had introduced it. And that was why the traders opposed it. They did not + want to see Fitu-Iva civilized. Why did they come across the far ocean + stretches with their goods to Fitu-Iva? He, the Feathers of the Sun, would + tell them why, to their faces, in grand council assembled. In their own + countries men were too civilized to let the traders make the immense + profits that they made out of the Fitu-Ivans. If the Fitu-Ivans became + properly civilized, the trade of the traders would be gone. In that day + every Fitu-Ivan could become a trader if he pleased. + </p> + <p> + That was why the white traders fought the system of paper money, that he, + the Feathers of the Sun, had brought. Why was he called the Feathers of + the Sun? Because he was the Light-Bringer from the World Beyond the Sky. + The paper money was the light. The robbing white traders could not + flourish in the light. Therefore they fought the light. + </p> + <p> + He would prove it to the good people of Fitu-Iva, and he would prove it + out of the mouths of his enemies. It was a well-known fact that all highly + civilized countries had paper-money systems. He would ask Ieremia if this + was not so. + </p> + <p> + Ieremia did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” Cornelius went on, “he makes no answer. He cannot deny what is + true. England, France, Germany, America, all the great <i>Papalangi</i> + countries, have the paper-money system. It works. From century to century + it works. I challenge you, Ieremia, as an honest man, as one who was once + a zealous worker in the Lord's vineyard, I challenge you to deny that in + the great <i>Papalangi</i> countries the system works.” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia could not deny, and his fingers played nervously with the + fastening of the basket on his knees. + </p> + <p> + “You see, it is as I have said,” Cornelius continued. “Ieremia agrees that + it is so. Therefore, I ask you, all good people of Fitu-Iva, if a system + is good for the <i>Papalangi</i> countries, why is it not good for + Fitu-Iva?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not the same!” Ieremia cried. “The paper of the Feathers of the Sun + is different from the paper of the great countries.” + </p> + <p> + That Cornelius had been prepared for this was evident. He held up a + Fitu-Ivan note that was recognized by all. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Paper, mere paper,” was Ieremia's reply. + </p> + <p> + “And that?” + </p> + <p> + This time Cornelius held up a Bank of England note. + </p> + <p> + “It is the paper money of the English,” he explained to the Council, at + the same time extending it for Ieremia to examine. “Is it not true, + Ieremia, that it is paper money of the English?” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia nodded reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “You have said that the paper money of Fitu-Iva was paper, now how about + this of the English? What is it?.... You must answer like a true man... + All wait for your answer, Ieremia.” + </p> + <p> + “It is—it is——” the puzzled Ieremia began, then + spluttered helplessly, the fallacy beyond his penetration. + </p> + <p> + “Paper, mere paper,” Cornelius concluded for him, imitating his halting + utterance. + </p> + <p> + Conviction sat on the faces of all. The king clapped his hands admiringly + and murmured, “It is most clear, very clear.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, he himself acknowledges it.” Assured triumph was in Deasy's + voice and bearing. “He knows of no difference. There is no difference. + 'Tis the very image of money. 'Tis money itself.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Grief was whispering in Ieremia's ear, who nodded and + began to speak. + </p> + <p> + “But it is well known to all the <i>Papalangi</i> that the English + Government will pay coin money for the paper.” + </p> + <p> + Deasy's victory was now absolute. He held aloft a Fitu-Ivan note. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not so written on this paper as well?” + </p> + <p> + Again Grief whispered. + </p> + <p> + “That Fitu-Iva will pay coin money?” asked Ieremia + </p> + <p> + “It is so written.” + </p> + <p> + A third time Grief prompted. + </p> + <p> + “On demand?” asked Ieremia. + </p> + <p> + “On demand,” Cornelius assured him. + </p> + <p> + “Then I demand coin money now,” said Ieremia, drawing a small package of + notes from the pouch at his girdle. + </p> + <p> + Cornelius scanned the package with a quick, estimating eye. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he agreed. “I shall give you the coin money now. How much?” + </p> + <p> + “And we will see the system work,” the king proclaimed, partaking in his + Chancellor's triumph. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard!—He will give coin money now!” Ieremia cried in a + loud voice to the assemblage. + </p> + <p> + At the same time he plunged both hands in the basket and drew forth many + packages of Fitu-Ivan notes. It was noticed that a peculiar odour was + adrift about the council. + </p> + <p> + “I have here,” Ieremia announced, “one thousand and twenty-eight pounds + twelve shillings and sixpence. Here is a sack to put the coin money in.” + </p> + <p> + Cornelius recoiled. He had not expected such a sum, and everywhere about + the council his uneasy eyes showed him chiefs and talking men drawing out + bundles of notes. The army, its two months' pay in its hands, pressed + forward to the edge of the council, while behind it the populace, with + more money, invaded the compound. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a run on the bank you've precipitated,” he said reproachfully to + Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Here is the sack to put the coin money in,” Ieremia urged. + </p> + <p> + “It must be postponed,” Cornelius said desperately, “'Tis not in banking + hours.” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia flourished a package of money. “Nothing of banking hours is + written here. It says on demand, and I now demand.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them come to-morrow, O Tui Tulifau,” Cornelius appealed to the king. + “They shall be paid to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Tui Tulifau hesitated, but his spouse glared at him, her brawny arm + tensing as the fist doubled into a redoubtable knot, Tui Tulifau tried to + look away, but failed. He cleared his throat nervously. + </p> + <p> + “We will see the system work,” he decreed. “The people have come far.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis good money you're asking me to pay out,” Deasy muttered in a low + voice to the king. + </p> + <p> + Sepeli caught what he said, and grunted so savagely as to startle the + king, who involuntarily shrank away from her. + </p> + <p> + “Forget not the pig,” Grief whispered to Ieremia, who immediately stood + up. + </p> + <p> + With a sweeping gesture he stilled the babel of voices that was beginning + to rise. + </p> + <p> + “It was an ancient and honourable custom of Fitu-Iva,” he said, “that when + a man was proved a notorious evildoer his joints were broken with a club + and he was staked out at low water to be fed upon alive by the sharks. + Unfortunately, that day is past. Nevertheless another ancient and + honourable custom remains with us. You all know what it is. When a man is + a proven thief and liar he shall be struck with a dead pig.” + </p> + <p> + His right hand went into the basket, and, despite the lack of his + spectacles, the dead pig that came into view landed accurately on Deasy's + neck. With such force was it thrown that the Chancellor, in his sitting + position, toppled over sidewise. Before he could recover, Sepeli, with an + agility unexpected of a woman who weighed two hundred and sixty pounds, + had sprung across to him. One hand clutched his shirt collar, the other + hand brandished the pig, and amid the vast uproar of a delighted kingdom + she royally swatted him. + </p> + <p> + There remained nothing for Tui Tulifau but to put a good face on his + favourite's disgrace, and his mountainous fat lay back on the mats and + shook in a gale of Gargantuan laughter. + </p> + <p> + When Sepeli dropped both pig and Chancellor, a talking man from the + windward coast picked up the carcass. Cornelius was on his feet and + running, when the pig caught him on the legs and tripped him. The people + and the army, with shouts and laughter, joined in the sport. + </p> + <p> + Twist and dodge as he would, everywhere the ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer + was met or overtaken by the flying pig. He scuttled like a frightened + rabbit in and out among the avocados and the palms. No hand was laid upon + him, and his tormentors made way before him, but ever they pursued, and + ever the pig flew as fast as hands could pick it up. + </p> + <p> + As the chase died away down the Broom Road, Grief led the traders to the + royal treasury, and the day was well over ere the last Fitu-Ivan bank note + had been redeemed with coin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Through the mellow cool of twilight a man paddled out from a clump of + jungle to the <i>Cantani</i>. It was a leaky and abandoned dugout, and he + paddled slowly, desisting from time to time in order to bale. The Kanaka + sailors giggled gleefully as he came alongside and painfully drew himself + over the rail. He was bedraggled and filthy, and seemed half-dazed. + </p> + <p> + “Could I speak a word with you, Mr. Grief?” he asked sadly and humbly. + </p> + <p> + “Sit to leeward and farther away,” Grief answered. “A little farther away. + That's better.” + </p> + <p> + Cornelius sat down on the rail and held his head in both his hands. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis right,” he said. “I'm as fragrant as a recent battlefield. My head + aches to burstin'. My neck is fair broken. The teeth are loose in my jaws. + There's nests of hornets buzzin' in my ears. My medulla oblongata is + dislocated. I've been through earthquake and pestilence, and the heavens + have rained pigs.” He paused with a sigh that ended in a groan. “'Tis a + vision of terrible death. One that the poets never dreamed. To be eaten by + rats, or boiled in oil, or pulled apart by wild horses—that would be + unpleasant. But to be beaten to death with a dead pig!” He shuddered at + the awfulness of it. “Sure it transcends the human imagination.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Boig sniffed audibly, moved his canvas chair farther to windward, + and sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “I hear you're runnin' over to Yap, Mr. Grief,” Cornelius went on. “An' + two things I'm wantin' to beg of you: a passage an' the nip of the old + smoky I refused the night you landed.” + </p> + <p> + Grief clapped his hands for the black steward and ordered soap and towels. + </p> + <p> + “Go for'ard, Cornelius, and take a scrub first,” he said. “The boy will + bring you a pair of dungarees and a shirt. And by the way, before you go, + how was it we found more coin in the treasury than paper you had issued?” + </p> + <p> + “'Twas the stake of my own I'd brought with me for the adventure.” + </p> + <p> + “We've decided to charge the demurrage and other expenses and loss to Tui + Tulifau,” Grief said. “So the balance we found will be turned over to you. + But ten shillings must be deducted.” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think dead pigs grow on trees? The sum of ten shillings for that + pig is entered in the accounts.” + </p> + <p> + Cornelius bowed his assent with a shudder. + </p> + <p> + “Sure it's grateful I am it wasn't a fifteen-shilling pig or a + twenty-shilling one.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Eight—THE PEARLS OF PARLAY + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + The Kanaka helmsman put the wheel down, and the <i>Malahini</i> slipped + into the eye of the wind and righted to an even keel. Her head-sails + emptied, there was a rat-tat of reef-points and quick shifting of + boom-tackles, and she was heeled over and filled away on the other tack. + Though it was early morning and the wind brisk, the five white men who + lounged on the poop-deck were scantily clad. David Grief, and his guest, + Gregory Mulhall, an Englishman, were still in pajamas, their naked feet + thrust into Chinese slippers. The captain and mate were in thin + undershirts and unstarched duck pants, while the supercargo still held in + his hands the undershirt he was reluctant to put on. The sweat stood out + on his forehead, and he seemed to thrust his bare chest thirstily into the + wind that did not cool. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty muggy, for a breeze like this,” he complained. + </p> + <p> + “And what's it doing around in the west? That's what I want to know,” was + Grief's contribution to the general plaint. + </p> + <p> + “It won't last, and it ain't been there long,” said Hermann, the Holland + mate. “She is been chop around all night—five minutes here, ten + minutes there, one hour somewhere other quarter.” + </p> + <p> + “Something makin ', something makin ',” Captain Warfield croaked, + spreading his bushy beard with the fingers of both hands and shoving the + thatch of his chin into the breeze in a vain search for coolness. + “Weather's been crazy for a fortnight. Haven't had the proper trades in + three weeks. Everything's mixed up. Barometer was pumping at sunset last + night, and it's pumping now, though the weather sharps say it don't mean + anything. All the same, I've got a prejudice against seeing it pump. Gets + on my nerves, sort of, you know. She was pumping that way the time we lost + the <i>Lancaster</i>. I was only an apprentice, but I can remember that + well enough. Brand new, four-masted steel ship; first voyage; broke the + old man's heart. He'd been forty years in the company. Just faded way and + died the next year.” + </p> + <p> + Despite the wind and the early hour, the heat was suffocating. The wind + whispered coolness, but did not deliver coolness. It might have blown off + the Sahara, save for the extreme humidity with which it was laden. There + was no fog nor mist, nor hint of fog or mist, yet the dimness of distance + produced the impression. There were no defined clouds, yet so thickly were + the heavens covered by a messy cloud-pall that the sun failed to shine + through. + </p> + <p> + “Ready about!” Captain Warfield ordered with slow sharpness. + </p> + <p> + The brown, breech-clouted Kanaka sailors moved languidly but quickly to + head-sheets and boom-tackles. + </p> + <p> + “Hard a-lee!” + </p> + <p> + The helmsman ran the spokes over with no hint of gentling, and the <i>Malahini</i> + darted prettily into the wind and about. + </p> + <p> + “Jove! she's a witch!” was Mulhall's appreciation. “I didn't know you + South Sea traders sailed yachts.” + </p> + <p> + “She was a Gloucester fisherman originally,” Grief explained, “and the + Gloucester boats are all yachts when it comes to build, rig, and sailing.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're heading right in—why don't you make it?” came the + Englishman's criticism. + </p> + <p> + “Try it, Captain Warfield,” Grief suggested. “Show him what a lagoon + entrance is on a strong ebb.” + </p> + <p> + “Close-and-by!” the captain ordered. + </p> + <p> + “Close-and-by,” the Kanaka repeated, easing half a spoke. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Malahini</i> laid squarely into the narrow passage which was the + lagoon entrance <i>of</i> a large, long, and narrow oval of an atoll. The + atoll was shaped as if three atolls, in the course of building, had + collided and coalesced and failed to rear the partition walls. Cocoanut + palms grew in spots on the circle of sand, and there were many gaps where + the sand was too low to the sea for cocoanuts, and through which could be + seen the protected lagoon where the water lay flat like the ruffled + surface of a mirror. Many square miles of water were in the irregular + lagoon, all of which surged out on the ebb through the one narrow channel. + So narrow was the channel, so large the outflow of water, that the passage + was more like the rapids of a river than the mere tidal entrance to an + atoll. The water boiled and whirled and swirled and drove outward in a + white foam of stiff, serrated waves. Each heave and blow on her bows of + the upstanding waves of the current swung the Malahini off the straight + lead and wedged her as with wedges of steel toward the side of the + passage. Part way in she was, when her closeness to the coral edge + compelled her to go about. On the opposite tack, broadside to the current, + she swept seaward with the current's speed. + </p> + <p> + “Now's the time for that new and expensive engine of yours,” Grief jeered + good-naturedly. + </p> + <p> + That the engine was a sore point with Captain Warfield was patent. He had + begged and badgered for it, until in the end Grief had given his consent. + </p> + <p> + “It will pay for itself yet,” the captain retorted, “You wait and see. It + beats insurance and you know the underwriters won't stand for insurance in + the Paumotus.” + </p> + <p> + Grief pointed to a small cutter beating up astern of them on the same + course. + </p> + <p> + “I'll wager a five-franc piece the little Nuhiva beats us in.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” Captain Warfield agreed. “She's overpowered. We're like a liner + alongside of her, and we've only got forty horsepower. She's got ten + horse, and she's a little skimming dish. She could skate across the froth + of hell, but just the same she can't buck this current. It's running ten + knots right now.” + </p> + <p> + And at the rate of ten knots, buffeted and jerkily rolled, the <i>Malahini</i> + went out to sea with the tide. + </p> + <p> + “She'll slacken in half an hour—then we'll make headway,” Captain + Warfield said, with an irritation explained by his next words. “He has no + right to call it Parlay. It's down on the admiralty charts, and the French + charts, too, as Hikihoho. Bougainville discovered it and named it from the + natives.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the name matter?” the supercargo demanded, taking advantage of + speech to pause with arms shoved into the sleeves of the undershirt. + “There it is, right under our nose, and old Parlay is there with the + pearls.” + </p> + <p> + “Who see them pearl?” Hermann queried, looking from one to another. + </p> + <p> + “It's well known,” was the supercargo's reply. He turned to the steersman: + “Tai-Hotauri, what about old Parlay's pearls?” + </p> + <p> + The Kanaka, pleased and self-conscious, took and gave a spoke. + </p> + <p> + “My brother dive for Parlay three, four month, and he make much talk about + pearl. Hikihoho very good place for pearl.” + </p> + <p> + “And the pearl-buyers have never got him to part with a pearl,” the + captain broke in. + </p> + <p> + “And they say he had a hatful for Armande when he sailed for Tahiti,” the + supercargo carried on the tale. “That's fifteen years ago, and he's been + adding to it ever since—stored the shell as well. Everybody's seen + that—hundreds of tons of it. They say the lagoon's fished clean now. + Maybe that's why he's announced the auction.” + </p> + <p> + “If he really sells, this will be the biggest year's output of pearls in + the Paumotus,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + “I say, now, look here!” Mulhall burst forth, harried by the humid heat as + much as the rest of them. “What's it all about? Who's the old beachcomber + anyway? What are all these pearls? Why so secretious about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Hikihoho belongs to old Parlay,” the supercargo answered. “He's got a + fortune in pearls, saved up for years and years, and he sent the word out + weeks ago that he'd auction them off to the buyers to-morrow. See those + schooners' masts sticking up inside the lagoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Eight, so I see,” said Hermann. + </p> + <p> + “What are they doing in a dinky atoll like this?” the supercargo went on. + “There isn't a schooner-load of copra a year in the place. They've come + for the auction. That's why we're here. That's why the little <i>Nuhiva's</i> + bumping along astern there, though what she can buy is beyond me. Narii + Herring—he's an English Jew half-caste—owns and runs her, and + his only assets are his nerve, his debts, and his whiskey bills. He's a + genius in such things. He owes so much that there isn't a merchant in + Papeete who isn't interested in his welfare. They go out of their way to + throw work in his way. They've got to, and a dandy stunt it is for Narii. + Now I owe nobody. What's the result? If I fell down in a fit on the beach + they'd let me lie there and die. They wouldn't lose anything. But Narii + Herring?—what wouldn't they do if he fell in a fit? Their best + wouldn't be too good for him. They've got too much money tied up in him to + let him lie. They'd take him into their homes and hand-nurse him like a + brother. Let me tell you, honesty in paying bills ain't what it's cracked + up to be.” + </p> + <p> + “What's this Narii chap got to do with it?” was the Englishman's + short-tempered demand. And, turning to Grief, he said, “What's all this + pearl nonsense? Begin at the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to help me out,” Grief warned the others, as he began. “Old + Parlay is a character. From what I've seen of him I believe he's partly + and mildly insane. Anyway, here's the story: Parlay's a full-blooded + Frenchman. He told me once that he came from Paris. His accent is the true + Parisian. He arrived down here in the old days. Went to trading and all + the rest. That's how he got in on Hikihoho. Came in trading when trading + was the real thing. About a hundred miserable Paumotans lived on the + island. He married the queen—native fashion. When she died, + everything was his. Measles came through, and there weren't more than a + dozen survivors. He fed them, and worked them, and was king. Now before + the queen died she gave birth to a girl. That's Armande. When she was + three he sent her to the convent at Papeete. When she was seven or eight + he sent her to France. You begin to glimpse the situation. The best and + most aristocratic convent in France was none too good for the only + daughter of a Paumotan island king and capitalist, and you know the old + country French draw no colour line. She was educated like a princess, and + she accepted herself in much the same way. Also, she thought she was + all-white, and never dreamed of a bar sinister. + </p> + <p> + “Now comes the tragedy. The old man had always been cranky and erratic, + and he'd played the despot on Hikihoho so long that he'd got the idea in + his head that there was nothing wrong with the king—or the princess + either. When Armande was eighteen he sent for her. He had slews and + slathers of money, as Yankee Bill would say. He'd built the big house on + Hikihoho, and a whacking fine bungalow in Papeete. She was to arrive on + the mail boat from New Zealand, and he sailed in his schooner to meet her + at Papeete. And he might have carried the situation off, despite the hens + and bull-beasts of Papeete, if it hadn't been for the hurricane. That was + the year, wasn't it, when Manu-Huhi was swept and eleven hundred drowned?” + </p> + <p> + The others nodded, and Captain Warfield said: “I was in the <i>Magpie</i> + that blow, and we went ashore, all hands and the cook, <i>Magpie</i> and + all, a quarter of a mile into the cocoanuts at the head of Taiohae Bay—and + it a supposedly hurricane-proof harbour.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Grief continued, “old Parlay got caught in the same blow, and + arrived in Papeete with his hatful of pearls three weeks too late. He'd + had to jack up his schooner and build half a mile of ways before he could + get her back into the sea. + </p> + <p> + “And in the meantime there was Armande at Papeete. Nobody called on her. + She did, French fashion, make the initial calls on the Governor and the + port doctor. They saw her, but neither of their hen-wives was at home to + her nor returned the call. She was out of caste, without caste, though she + had never dreamed it, and that was the gentle way they broke the + information to her. There was a gay young lieutenant on the French + cruiser. He lost his heart to her, but not his head. You can imagine the + shock to this young woman, refined, beautiful, raised like an aristocrat, + pampered with the best of old France that money could buy. And you can + guess the end.” He shrugged his shoulders. “There was a Japanese servant + in the bungalow. He saw it. Said she did it with the proper spirit of the + Samurai. Took a stiletto—no thrust, no drive, no wild rush for + annihilation—took the stiletto, placed the point carefully against + her heart, and with both hands, slowly and steadily, pressed home. + </p> + <p> + “Old Parlay arrived after that with his pearls. There was one single one + of them, they say, worth sixty thousand francs. Peter Gee saw it, and has + told me he offered that much for it. The old man went clean off for a + while. They had him strait-jacketed in the Colonial Club two days——” + </p> + <p> + “His wife's uncle, an old Paumotan, cut him out of the jacket and turned + him loose,” the supercargo corroborated. + </p> + <p> + “And then old Parlay proceeded to eat things up,” Grief went on. “Pumped + three bullets into the scalawag of a lieutenant——” + </p> + <p> + “Who lay in sick bay for three months,” Captain Warfield contributed. + </p> + <p> + “Flung a glass of wine in the Governor's face; fought a duel with the port + doctor; beat up his native servants; wrecked the hospital; broke two ribs + and the collarbone of a man nurse, and escaped; and went down to his + schooner, a gun in each hand, daring the chief of police and all the + gendarmes to arrest him, and sailed for Hikihoho. And they say he's never + left the island since.” + </p> + <p> + The supercargo nodded. “That was fifteen years ago, and he's never + budged.” + </p> + <p> + “And added to his pearls,” said the captain. “He's a blithering old + lunatic. Makes my flesh creep. He's a regular Finn.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” Mulhall inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Bosses the weather—that's what the natives believe, at any rate. + Ask Tai-Hotauri there. Hey, Tai-Hotauri! what you think old Parlay do + along weather?” + </p> + <p> + “Just the same one big weather devil,” came the Kanaka's answer. “I know. + He want big blow, he make big blow. He want no wind, no wind come.” + </p> + <p> + “A regular old Warlock,” said Mulhall. + </p> + <p> + “No good luck them pearl,” Tai-Hotauri blurted out, rolling his head + ominously. “He say he sell. Plenty schooner come. Then he make big + hurricane, everybody finish, you see. All native men say so.” + </p> + <p> + “It's hurricane season now,” Captain War-field laughed morosely. “They're + not far wrong. It's making for something right now, and I'd feel better if + the <i>Malahini</i> was a thousand miles away from here.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a bit mad,” Grief concluded. “I've tried to get his point of view. + It's—well, it's mixed. For eighteen years he'd centred everything on + Armande. Half the time he believes she's still alive, not yet come back + from France. That's one of the reasons he held on to the pearls. And all + the time he hates white men. He never forgets they killed her, though a + great deal of the time he forgets she's dead. Hello! Where's your wind?” + </p> + <p> + The sails bellied emptily overhead, and Captain Warfield grunted his + disgust. Intolerable as the heat had been, in the absence of wind it was + almost overpowering. The sweat oozed out on all their faces, and now one, + and again another, drew deep breaths, involuntarily questing for more air. + </p> + <p> + “Here she comes again—an eight point haul! Boom-tackles across! + Jump!” + </p> + <p> + The Kanakas sprang to the captain's orders, and for five minutes the + schooner laid directly into the passage and even gained on the current. + Again the breeze fell flat, then puffed from the old quarter, compelling a + shift back of sheets and tackles. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes the <i>Nuhiva</i>” Grief said. “She's got her engine on. Look + at her skim.” + </p> + <p> + “All ready?” the captain asked the engineer, a Portuguese half-caste, + whose head and shoulders protruded from the small hatch just for'ard of + the cabin, and who wiped the sweat from his face with a bunch of greasy + waste. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Then let her go.” + </p> + <p> + The engineer disappeared into his den, and a moment later the exhaust + muffler coughed and spluttered overside. But the schooner could not hold + her lead. The little cutter made three feet to her two and was quickly + alongside and forging ahead. Only natives were on her deck, and the man + steering waved his hand in derisive greeting and farewell. + </p> + <p> + “That's Narii Herring,” Grief told Mulhall. “The big fellow at the wheel—the + nerviest and most conscienceless scoundrel in the Paumotus.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later a cry of joy from their own Kanakas centred all eyes on + the <i>Nuhiva</i>. Her engine had broken down and they were overtaking + her. The <i>Malahini's</i> sailors sprang into the rigging and jeered as + they went by; the little cutter heeled over by the wind with a bone in her + teeth, going backward on the tide. + </p> + <p> + “Some engine that of ours,” Grief approved, as the lagoon opened before + them and the course was changed across it to the anchorage. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield was visibly cheered, though he merely grunted, “It'll pay + for itself, never fear.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Malahini</i> ran well into the centre of the little fleet ere she + found swinging room to anchor. + </p> + <p> + “There's Isaacs on the <i>Dolly</i>,” Grief observed, with a hand wave of + greeting. “And Peter Gee's on the <i>Roberta</i>. Couldn't keep him away + from a pearl sale like this. And there's Francini on the <i>Cactus</i>. + They're all here, all the buyers. Old Parlay will surely get a price.” + </p> + <p> + “They haven't repaired the engine yet,” Captain Warfield grumbled + gleefully. + </p> + <p> + He was looking across the lagoon to where the <i>Nuhiva's</i> sails showed + through the sparse cocoa-nuts. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + The house of Parlay was a big two-story frame affair, built of California + lumber, with a galvanized iron roof. So disproportionate was it to the + slender ring of the atoll that it showed out upon the sand-strip and above + it like some monstrous excrescence. They of the <i>Malahini</i> paid the + courtesy visit ashore immediately after anchoring. Other captains and + buyers were in the big room examining the pearls that were to be auctioned + next day. Paumotan servants, natives of Hikihoho, and relatives of the + owner, moved about dispensing whiskey and absinthe. And through the + curious company moved Parlay himself, cackling and sneering, the withered + wreck of what had once been a tall and powerful man. His eyes were deep + sunken and feverish, his cheeks fallen in and cavernous. The hair of his + head seemed to have come out in patches, and his mustache and imperial had + shed in the same lopsided way. + </p> + <p> + “Jove!” Mulhall muttered under his breath. “A long-legged Napoleon the + Third, but burnt out, baked, and fire-crackled. And mangy! No wonder he + crooks his head to one side. He's got to keep the balance.” + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to have a blow,” was the old man's greeting to Grief. “You must + think a lot of pearls to come a day like this.” + </p> + <p> + “They're worth going to inferno for,” Grief laughed genially back, running + his eyes over the surface of the table covered by the display. + </p> + <p> + “Other men have already made that journey for them,” old Parlay cackled. + “See this one!” He pointed to a large, perfect pearl the size of a small + walnut that lay apart on a piece of chamois. “They offered me sixty + thousand francs for it in Tahiti. They'll bid as much and more for it + to-morrow, if they aren't blown away. Well, that pearl, it was found by my + cousin, my cousin by marriage. He was a native, you see. Also, he was a + thief. He hid it. It was mine. His cousin, who was also my cousin—we're + all related here—killed him for it and fled away in a cutter to + Noo-Nau. I pursued, but the chief of Noo-Nau had killed him for it before + I got there. Oh, yes, there are many dead men represented on the table + there. Have a drink, Captain. Your face is not familiar. You are new in + the islands?” + </p> + <p> + “It's Captain Robinson of the <i>Roberta</i>,” Grief said, introducing + them. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Mulhall had shaken hands with Peter Gee. + </p> + <p> + “I never fancied there were so many pearls in the world,” Mulhall said. + </p> + <p> + “Nor have I ever seen so many together at one time,” Peter Gee admitted. + </p> + <p> + “What ought they to be worth?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty or sixty thousand pounds—and that's to us buyers. In Paris——” + He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his eyebrows at the + incommunicableness of the sum. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall wiped the sweat from his eyes. All were sweating profusely and + breathing hard. There was no ice in the drink that was served, and whiskey + and absinthe went down lukewarm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” Parlay was cackling. “Many dead men lie on the table there. I + know those pearls, all of them. You see those three! Perfectly matched, + aren't they? A diver from Easter Island got them for me inside a week. + Next week a shark got him; took his arm off and blood poison did the + business. And that big baroque there—nothing much—if I'm + offered twenty francs for it to-morrow I'll be in luck; it came out of + twenty-two fathoms of water. The man was from Raratonga. He broke all + diving records. He got it out of twenty-two fathoms. I saw him. And he + burst his lungs at the same time, or got the 'bends,' for he died in two + hours. He died screaming. They could hear him for miles. He was the most + powerful native I ever saw. Half a dozen of my divers have died of the + bends. And more men will die, more men will die.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hush your croaking, Parlay,” chided one of the captains. “It ain't + going to blow.” + </p> + <p> + “If I was a strong man, I couldn't get up hook and get out fast enough,” + the old man retorted in the falsetto of age. “Not if I was a strong man + with the taste for wine yet in my mouth. But not you. You'll all stay, I + wouldn't advise you if I thought you'd go, You can't drive buzzards away + from the carrion. Have another drink, my brave sailor-men. Well, well, + what men will dare for a few little oyster drops! There they are, the + beauties! Auction to-morrow, at ten sharp. Old Parlay's selling out, and + the buzzards are gathering—old Parlay who was a stronger man in his + day than any of them and who will see most of them dead yet.” + </p> + <p> + “If he isn't a vile old beast!” the supercargo of the <i>Malahini</i> + whispered to Peter Gee. + </p> + <p> + “What if she does blow?” said the captain of the <i>Dolly</i>. “Hikihoho's + never been swept.” + </p> + <p> + “The more reason she will be, then,” Captain Warfield answered back. “I + wouldn't trust her.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's croaking now?” Grief reproved. + </p> + <p> + “I'd hate to lose that new engine before it paid for itself,” Captain + Warfield replied gloomily. + </p> + <p> + Parlay skipped with astonishing nimbleness across the crowded room to the + barometer on the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Take a look, my brave sailormen!” he cried exultantly. + </p> + <p> + The man nearest read the glass. The sobering effect showed plainly on his + face. + </p> + <p> + “It's dropped ten,” was all he said, yet every face went anxious, and + there was a look as if every man desired immediately to start for the + door. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” Parlay commanded. + </p> + <p> + In the silence the outer surf seemed to have become unusually loud. There + was a great rumbling roar. + </p> + <p> + “A big sea is beginning to set,” some one said; and there was a movement + to the windows, where all gathered. + </p> + <p> + Through the sparse cocoanuts they gazed seaward. An orderly succession of + huge smooth seas was rolling down upon the coral shore. For some minutes + they gazed on the strange sight and talked in low voices, and in those few + minutes it was manifest to all that the waves were increasing in size. It + was uncanny, this rising sea in a dead calm, and their voices + unconsciously sank lower. Old Parlay shocked them with his abrupt cackle. + </p> + <p> + “There is yet time to get away to sea, brave gentlemen. You can tow across + the lagoon with your whaleboats.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, old man,” said Darling, the mate of the <i>Cactus</i>, a + stalwart youngster of twenty-five. “The blow's to the southward and + passing on. We'll not get a whiff of it.” + </p> + <p> + An air of relief went through the room. Conversations were started, and + the voices became louder. Several of the buyers even went back to the + table to continue the examination of the pearls. + </p> + <p> + Parlay's shrill cackle rose higher. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” he encouraged. “If the world was coming to an end you'd go + on buying.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll buy these to-morrow just the same,” Isaacs assured him. + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll be doing your buying in hell.” + </p> + <p> + The chorus of incredulous laughter incensed the old man. He turned + fiercely on Darling. + </p> + <p> + “Since when have children like you come to the knowledge of storms? And + who is the man who has plotted the hurricane-courses of the Paumotus? What + books will you find it in? I sailed the Paumotus before the oldest of you + drew breath. I know. To the eastward the paths of the hurricanes are on so + wide a circle they make a straight line. To the westward here they make a + sharp curve. Remember your chart. How did it happen the hurricane of '91 + swept Auri and Hiolau? The curve, my brave boy, the curve! In an hour, or + two or three at most, will come the wind. Listen to that!” + </p> + <p> + A vast rumbling crash shook the coral foundations of the atoll. The house + quivered to it. The native servants, with bottles of whiskey and absinthe + in their hands, shrank together as if for protection and stared with fear + through the windows at the mighty wash of the wave lapping far up the + beach to the corner of a copra-shed. + </p> + <p> + Parlay looked at the barometer, giggled, and leered around at his guests. + Captain War-field strode across to see. + </p> + <p> + “29:75,” he read. “She's gone down five more. By God! the old devil's + right. She's a-coming, and it's me, for one, for aboard.” + </p> + <p> + “It's growing dark,” Isaacs half whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Jove! it's like a stage,” Mulhall said to Grief, looking at his watch. + “Ten o'clock in the morning, and it's like twilight. Down go the lights + for the tragedy. Where's the slow music!” + </p> + <p> + In answer, another rumbling crash shook the atoll and the house. Almost in + a panic the company started for the door. In the dim light their sweaty + faces appeared ghastly. Isaacs panted asthmatically in the suffocating + heat. + </p> + <p> + “What's your haste?” Parlay chuckled and girded at his departing guests. + “A last drink, brave gentlemen.” No one noticed him. As they took the + shell-bordered path to the beach he stuck his head out the door and + called, “Don't forget, gentlemen, at ten to-morrow old Parlay sells his + pearls.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + On the beach a curious scene took place. Whaleboat after whaleboat was + being hurriedly manned and shoved off. It had grown still darker. The + stagnant calm continued, and the sand shook under their feet with each + buffet of the sea on the outer shore. Narii Herring walked leisurely along + the sand. He grinned at the very evident haste of the captains and buyers. + With him were three of his Kanakas, and also Tai-Hotauri. + </p> + <p> + “Get into the boat and take an oar,” Captain Warfield ordered the latter. + </p> + <p> + Tai-Hotauri came over jauntily, while Narii Herring and his three Kanakas + paused and looked on from forty feet away. + </p> + <p> + “I work no more for you, skipper,” Tai-Hotauri said insolently and loudly. + But his face belied his words, for he was guilty of a prodigious wink. + “Fire me, skipper,” he huskily whispered, with a second significant wink. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield took the cue and proceeded to do some acting himself. He + raised his fist and his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Get into that boat,” he thundered, “or I'll knock seven bells out of + you!” + </p> + <p> + The Kanaka drew back truculently, and Grief stepped between to placate his + captain. + </p> + <p> + “I go to work on the <i>Nuhiva</i>,” Tai-Hotauri said, rejoining the other + group. + </p> + <p> + “Come back here!” the captain threatened. + </p> + <p> + “He's a free man, skipper,” Narii Herring spoke up. “He's sailed with me + in the past, and he's sailing again, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, we must get on board,” Grief urged. “Look how dark it's + getting.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield gave in, but as the boat shoved off he stood up in the + sternsheets and shook his fist ashore. + </p> + <p> + “I'll settle with you yet, Narii,” he cried. “You're the only skipper in + the group that steals other men's sailors,” He sat down, and in lowered + voice queried: “Now what's Tai-Hotauri up to? He's on to something, but + what is it?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + As the boat came alongside the <i>Malahini</i>, Hermann's anxious face + greeted them over the rail. + </p> + <p> + “Bottom out fall from barometer,” he announced. “She's goin' to blow. I + got starboard anchor overhaul.” + </p> + <p> + “Overhaul the big one, too,” Captain Warfield ordered, taking charge. “And + here, some of you, hoist in this boat. Lower her down to the deck and lash + her bottom up.” + </p> + <p> + Men were busy at work on the decks of all the schooners. There was a great + clanking of chains being overhauled, and now one craft, and now another, + hove in, veered, and dropped a second anchor. Like the <i>Malahini</i>, + those that had third anchors were preparing to drop them when the wind + showed what quarter it was to blow from. + </p> + <p> + The roar of the big surf continually grew though the lagoon lay in the + mirror-like calm. + </p> + <p> + There was no sign of life where Parlay's big house perched on the sand. + Boat and copra-sheds and the sheds where the shell was stored were + deserted. + </p> + <p> + “For two cents I'd up anchors and get out,” Grief said. “I'd do it anyway + if it were open sea. But those chains of atolls to the north and east have + us pocketed. We've a better chance right here. What do you think, Captain + Warfield?” + </p> + <p> + “I agree with you, though a lagoon is no mill-pond for riding it out. I + wonder where she's going to start from? Hello! There goes one of Parlay's + copra-sheds.” + </p> + <p> + They could see the grass-thatched shed lift and collapse, while a froth of + foam cleared the crest of the sand and ran down to the lagoon. + </p> + <p> + “Breached across!” Mulhall exclaimed. “That's something for a starter. + There she comes again!” + </p> + <p> + The wreck of the shed was now flung up and left on the sand-crest, A third + wave buffeted it into fragments which washed down the slope toward the + lagoon. + </p> + <p> + “If she blow I would as be cooler yet,” Hermann grunted. “No longer can I + breathe. It is damn hot. I am dry like a stove.” + </p> + <p> + He chopped open a drinking cocoanut with his heavy sheath-knife and + drained the contents. The rest of them followed his example, pausing once + to watch one of Parlay's shell sheds go down in ruin. The barometer now + registered 29:50. + </p> + <p> + “Must be pretty close to the centre of the area of low pressure,” Grief + remarked cheerfully. “I was never through the eye of a hurricane before. + It will be an experience for you, too, Mulhall. From the speed the + barometer's dropped, it's going to be a big one.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield groaned, and all eyes drew to him. He was looking through + the glasses down the length of the lagoon to the southeast. + </p> + <p> + “There she comes,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + They did not need glasses to see. A flying film, strangely marked, seemed + drawing over the surface of the lagoon. Abreast of it, along the atoll, + travelling with equal speed, was a stiff bending of the cocoanut palms and + a blur of flying leaves. The front of the wind on the water was a solid, + sharply defined strip of dark-coloured, wind-vexed water. In advance of + this strip, like skirmishers, were flashes of windflaws. Behind this + strip, a quarter of a mile in width, was a strip of what seemed glassy + calm. Next came another dark strip of wind, and behind that the lagoon was + all crisping, boiling whiteness. + </p> + <p> + “What is that calm streak?” Mulhall asked. + </p> + <p> + “Calm,” Warfield answered. + </p> + <p> + “But it travels as fast as the wind,” was the other's objection. + </p> + <p> + “It has to, or it would be overtaken and it wouldn't be any calm. It's a + double-header, I saw a big squall like that off Savaii once. A regular + double-header. Smash! it hit us, then it lulled to nothing, and smashed us + a second time. Stand by and hold on! Here she is on top of us. Look at the + <i>Roberta!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The Roberta, lying nearest to the wind at slack chains, was swept off + broadside like a straw. Then her chains brought her up, bow on to the + wind, with an astonishing jerk. Schooner after schooner, the <i>Malahini</i> + with them, was now sweeping away with the first gust and fetching up on + taut chains. Mulhall and several of the Kanakas were taken off their feet + when the <i>Malahini</i> jerked to her anchors. + </p> + <p> + And then there was no wind. The flying calm streak had reached them. Grief + lighted a match, and the unshielded flame burned without flickering in the + still air. A very dim twilight prevailed. The cloud-sky, lowering as it + had been for hours, seemed now to have descended quite down upon the sea. + </p> + <p> + The Roberta tightened to her chains when the second head of the hurricane + hit, as did schooner after schooner in swift succession. The sea, white + with fury, boiled in tiny, spitting wavelets. The deck of the <i>Malahini</i> + vibrated under the men's feet. The taut-stretched halyards beat a tattoo + against the masts, and all the rigging, as if smote by some mighty hand, + set up a wild thrumming. It was impossible to face the wind and breathe. + Mulhall, crouching with the others behind the shelter of the cabin, + discovered this, and his lungs were filled in an instant with so great a + volume of driven air which he could not expel that he nearly strangled ere + he could turn his head away. + </p> + <p> + “It's incredible,” he gasped, but no one heard him. + </p> + <p> + Hermann and several Kanakas were crawling for'ard on hands and knees to + let go the third anchor. Grief touched Captain Warfield and pointed to the + <i>Roberta</i>. She was dragging down upon them. Warfield put his mouth to + Grief's ear and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “We're dragging, too!” + </p> + <p> + Grief sprang to the wheel and put it hard over, veering the <i>Mahhini</i> + to port. The third anchor took hold, and the <i>Roberta</i> went by, + stern-first, a dozen yards away. They waved their hands to Peter Gee and + Captain Robinson, who, with a number of sailors, were at work on the bow. + </p> + <p> + “He's knocking out the shackles!” Grief shouted. “Going to chance the + passage! Got to! Anchors skating!” + </p> + <p> + “We're holding now!” came the answering shout. “There goes the <i>Cactus</i> + down on the <i>Misi</i>. That settles them!” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Misi</i> had been holding, but the added windage of the <i>Cactus</i> + was too much, and the entangled schooners slid away across the boiling + white. Their men could be seen chopping and fighting to get them apart. + The <i>Roberta</i>, cleared of her anchors, with a patch of tarpaulin set + for'ard, was heading for the passage at the northwestern end of the + lagoon. They saw her make it and drive out to sea. But the <i>Misi</i> and + <i>Cactus</i>, unable to get clear of each other, went ashore on the atoll + half a mile from the passage. The wind merely increased on itself and + continued to increase. To face the full blast of it required all one's + strength, and several minutes of crawling on deck against it tired a man + to exhaustion. Hermann, with his Kanakas, plodded steadily, lashing and + making secure, putting ever more gaskets on the sails. The wind ripped and + tore their thin undershirts from their backs. They moved slowly, as if + their bodies weighed tons, never releasing a hand-hold until another had + been secured. Loose ends of rope stood out stiffly horizontal, and, when a + whipping gave, the loose end frazzled and blew away. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall touched one and then another and pointed to the shore. The + grass-sheds had disappeared, and Parlay's house rocked drunkenly, Because + the wind blew lengthwise along the atoll, the house had been sheltered by + the miles of cocoanut trees. But the big seas, breaking across from + outside, were undermining it and hammering it to pieces. Already tilted + down the slope of sand, its end was imminent. Here and there in the + cocoanut trees people had lashed themselves. The trees did not sway or + thresh about. Bent over rigidly from the wind, they remained in that + position and vibrated monstrously. Underneath, across the sand, surged the + white spume of the breakers. A big sea was likewise making down the length + of the lagoon. It had plenty of room to kick up in the ten-mile stretch + from the windward rim of the atoll, and all the schooners were bucking and + plunging into it. The <i>Malahini</i> had begun shoving her bow and + fo'c'sle head under the bigger ones, and at times her waist was filled + rail-high with water. + </p> + <p> + “Now's the time for your engine!” Grief bellowed; and Captain Warfield, + crawling over to where the engineer lay, shouted emphatic commands. + </p> + <p> + Under the engine, going full speed ahead, the <i>Malahini</i> behaved + better. While she continued to ship seas over her bow, she was not jerked + down so fiercely by her anchors. On the other hand, she was unable to get + any slack in the chains. The best her forty horsepower could do was to + ease the strain. + </p> + <p> + Still the wind increased. The little <i>Nuhiva</i>, lying abreast of the + <i>Malahini</i> and closer in to the beach, her engine still unrepaired + and her captain ashore, was having a bad time of it. She buried herself so + frequently and so deeply that they wondered each time if she could clear + herself of the water. At three in the afternoon buried by a second sea + before she could free herself of the preceding one, she did not come up. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall looked at Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Burst in her hatches,” was the bellowed answer. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield pointed to the <i>Winifred</i>, a little schooner + plunging and burying outside of them, and shouted in Grief's ear. His + voice came in patches of dim words, with intervals of silence when whisked + away by the roaring wind. + </p> + <p> + “Rotten little tub... Anchors hold... But how she holds together... Old as + the ark——” + </p> + <p> + An hour later Hermann pointed to her. Her for'ard bitts, foremast, and + most of her bow were gone, having been jerked out of her by her anchors. + She swung broadside, rolling in the trough and settling by the head, and + in this plight was swept away to leeward. + </p> + <p> + Five vessels now remained, and of them the <i>Malahini</i> was the only + one with an engine. Fearing either the <i>Nuhiva's</i> or the <i>Winifdred's</i> + fate, two of them followed the <i>Roberta's</i> example, knocking out the + chain-shackles and running for the passage. The <i>Dolly</i> was the + first, but her tarpaulin was carried away, and she went to destruction on + the lee-rim of the atoll near the <i>Misi</i> and the <i>Cactus</i>. + Undeterred by this, the <i>Moana</i> let go and followed with the same + result. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good engine that, eh?” Captain Warfield yelled to his owner. + </p> + <p> + Grief put out his hand and shook. “She's paying for herself!” he yelled + back. “The wind's shifting around to the southward, and we ought to lie + easier!” + </p> + <p> + Slowly and steadily, but with ever-increasing velocity, the wind veered + around to the south and the southwest, till the three schooners that were + left pointed directly in toward the beach. The wreck of Parlay's house was + picked up, hurled into the lagoon, and blown out upon them. Passing the <i>Malahini</i>, + it crashed into the <i>Papara</i>, lying a quarter of a mile astern. There + was wild work for'ard on her, and in a quarter of an hour the house went + clear, but it had taken the <i>Papara's</i> foremast and bowsprit with it. + </p> + <p> + Inshore, on their port bow, lay the <i>Tahaa</i>, slim and yacht-like, but + excessively oversparred. Her anchors still held, but her captain, finding + no abatement in the wind, proceeded to reduce windage by chopping down his + masts. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good engine that,” Grief congratulated his skipper, “It will save + our sticks for us yet.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield shook his head dubiously. + </p> + <p> + The sea on the lagoon went swiftly down with the change of wind, but they + were beginning to feel the heave and lift of the outer sea breaking across + the atoll. There were not so many trees remaining. Some had been broken + short off, others uprooted. One tree they saw snap off halfway up, three + persons clinging to it, and whirl away by the wind into the lagoon. Two + detached themselves from it and swam to the Tahaa. Not long after, just + before darkness, they saw one jump overboard from that schooner's stern + and strike out strongly for the Malahini through the white, spitting + wavelets. + </p> + <p> + “It's Tai-Hotauri,” was Grief's judgment. “Now we'll have the news.” + </p> + <p> + The Kanaka caught the bobstay, climbed over the bow, and crawled aft. Time + was given him to breathe, and then, behind the part shelter of the cabin, + in broken snatches and largely by signs, he told his story. + </p> + <p> + “Narii... damn robber... He want steal... pearls... Kill Parlay... One man + kill Parlay... No man know what man... Three Kanakas, Narii, me... Five + beans... hat... Narii say one bean black... Nobody know... Kill Parlay... + Narii damn liar... All beans black... Five black... Copra-shed dark... + Every man get black bean... Big wind come... No chance... Everybody get up + tree... No good luck them pearls... I tell you before... No good luck.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's Parlay?” Grief shouted. + </p> + <p> + “Up tree... Three of his Kanakas same tree. Narii and one Kanaka'nother + tree... My tree blow to hell, then I come on board.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the pearls?” + </p> + <p> + “Up tree along Parlay. Mebbe Narii get them pearl yet.” + </p> + <p> + In the ear of one after another Grief passed on Tai-Hotauri's story. + Captain Warfield was particularly incensed, and they could see him + grinding his teeth. + </p> + <p> + Hermann went below and returned with a riding light, but the moment it was + lifted above the level of the cabin wall the wind blew it out. He had + better success with the binnacle lamp, which was lighted only after many + collective attempts. + </p> + <p> + “A fine night of wind!” Grief yelled in Mulhall's ear. “And blowing harder + all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “How hard?” + </p> + <p> + “A hundred miles an hour... two hundred... I don't know... Harder than + I've ever seen it.” + </p> + <p> + The lagoon grew more and more troubled by the sea that swept across the + atoll. Hundreds of leagues of ocean was being backed up by the hurricane, + which more than overcame the lowering effect of the ebb tide. Immediately + the tide began to rise the increase in the size of the seas was + noticeable. Moon and wind were heaping the South Pacific on Hikihoho + atoll. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield returned from one of his periodical trips to the engine + room with the word that the engineer lay in a faint. + </p> + <p> + “Can't let that engine stop!” he concluded helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “All right!” Grief said, “Bring him on deck. I'll spell him.” + </p> + <p> + The hatch to the engine room was battened down, access being gained + through a narrow passage from the cabin. The heat and gas fumes were + stifling. Grief took one hasty, comprehensive examination of the engine + and the fittings of the tiny room, then blew out the oil-lamp. After that + he worked in darkness, save for the glow from endless cigars which he went + into the cabin to light. Even-tempered as he was, he soon began to give + evidences of the strain of being pent in with a mechanical monster that + toiled, and sobbed, and slubbered in the shouting dark. Naked to the + waist, covered with grease and oil, bruised and skinned from being knocked + about by the plunging, jumping vessel, his head swimming from the mixture + of gas and air he was compelled to breathe, he laboured on hour after + hour, in turns petting, blessing, nursing, and cursing the engine and all + its parts. The ignition began to go bad. The feed grew worse. And worst of + all, the cylinders began to heat. In a consultation held in the cabin the + half-caste engineer begged and pleaded to stop the engine for half an hour + in order to cool it and to attend to the water circulation. Captain + Warfield was against any stopping. The half-caste swore that the engine + would ruin itself and stop anyway and for good. Grief, with glaring eyes, + greasy and battered, yelled and cursed them both down and issued commands. + Mulhall, the supercargo, and Hermann were set to work in the cabin at + double-straining and triple-straining the gasoline. A hole was chopped + through the engine room floor, and a Kanaka heaved bilge-water over the + cylinders, while Grief continued to souse running parts in oil. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't know you were a gasoline expert,” Captain Warfield admired when + Grief came into the cabin to catch a breath of little less impure air. + </p> + <p> + “I bathe in gasoline,” he grated savagely through his teeth. “I eat it.” + </p> + <p> + What other uses he might have found for it were never given, for at that + moment all the men in the cabin, as well as the gasoline being strained, + were smashed forward against the bulkhead as the <i>Malahini</i> took an + abrupt, deep dive. For the space of several minutes, unable to gain their + feet, they rolled back and forth and pounded and hammered from wall to + wall. The schooner, swept by three big seas, creaked and groaned and + quivered, and from the weight of water on her decks behaved logily. Grief + crept to the engine, while Captain Warfield waited his chance to get + through the companion-way and out on deck. + </p> + <p> + It was half an hour before he came back. + </p> + <p> + “Whaleboat's gone!” he reported. “Galley's gone! Everything gone except + the deck and hatches! And if that engine hadn't been going we'd be gone! + Keep up the good work!” + </p> + <p> + By midnight the engineer's lungs and head had been sufficiently cleared of + gas fumes to let him relieve Grief, who went on deck to get his own head + and lungs clear. He joined the others, who crouched behind the cabin, + holding on with their hands and made doubly secure by rope-lashings. It + was a complicated huddle, for it was the only place of refuge for the + Kanakas. Some of them had accepted the skipper's invitation into the cabin + but had been driven out by the fumes. The <i>Malahini</i> was being + plunged down and swept frequently, and what they breathed was air and + spray and water commingled. + </p> + <p> + “Making heavy weather of it, Mulhall!” Grief shouted to his guest between + immersions. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall, strangling and choking, could only nod. The scuppers could not + carry off the burden of water on the schooner's deck. She rolled it out + and took it in over one rail and the other; and at times, nose thrown + skyward, sitting down on her heel, she avalanched it aft. It surged along + the poop gangways, poured over the top of the cabin, submerging and + bruising those that clung on, and went out over the stern-rail. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall saw him first, and drew Grief's attention. It was Narii Herring, + crouching and holding on where the dim binnacle light shone upon him. He + was quite naked, save for a belt and a bare-bladed knife thrust between it + and the skin. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield untied his lashings and made his way over the bodies of + the others. When his face became visible in the light from the binnacle it + was working with anger. They could see him speak, but the wind tore the + sound away. He would not put his lips to Narii's ear. Instead, he pointed + over the side. Narii Herring understood. His white teeth showed in an + amused and sneering smile, and he stood up, a magnificent figure of a man. + </p> + <p> + “It's murder!” Mulhall yelled to Grief. + </p> + <p> + “He'd have murdered Old Parlay!” Grief yelled back. + </p> + <p> + For the moment the poop was clear of water and the <i>Malahini</i> on an + even keel. Narii made a bravado attempt to walk to the rail, but was flung + down by the wind. Thereafter he crawled, disappearing in the darkness, + though there was certitude in all of them that he had gone over the side. + The Malahini dived deep, and when they emerged from the flood that swept + aft, Grief got Mulhall's ear. + </p> + <p> + “Can't lose him! He's the Fish Man of Tahiti! He'll cross the lagoon and + land on the other rim of the atoll if there's any atoll left!” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes afterward, in another submergence, a mess of bodies poured + down on them over the top of the cabin. These they seized and held till + the water cleared, when they carried them below and learned their + identity. Old Parlay lay oh his back on the floor, with closed eyes and + without movement. The other two were his Kanaka cousins. All three were + naked and bloody. The arm of one Kanaka hung helpless and broken at his + side. The other man bled freely from a hideous scalp wound. + </p> + <p> + “Narii did that?” Mulhall demanded. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. “No; it's from being smashed along the deck and over + the house!” + </p> + <p> + Something suddenly ceased, leaving them in dizzying uncertainty. For the + moment it was hard to realize there was no wind. With the absolute + abruptness of a sword slash, the wind had been chopped off. The schooner + rolled and plunged, fetching up on her anchors with a crash which for the + first time they could hear. Also, for the first time they could hear the + water washing about on deck. The engineer threw off the propeller and + eased the engine down. + </p> + <p> + “We're in the dead centre,” Grief said. “Now for the shift. It will come + as hard as ever.” He looked at the barometer. “29:32,” he read. + </p> + <p> + Not in a moment could he tone down the voice which for hours had battled + against the wind, and so loudly did he speak that in the quiet it hurt the + others' ears. + </p> + <p> + “All his ribs are smashed,” the supercargo said, feeling along Parlay's + side. “He's still breathing, but he's a goner.” + </p> + <p> + Old Parlay groaned, moved one arm impotently, and opened his eyes. In them + was the light of recognition. + </p> + <p> + “My brave gentlemen,” he whispered haltingly. “Don't forget... the + auction... at ten o'clock... in hell.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes dropped shut and the lower jaw threatened to drop, but he + mastered the qualms of dissolution long enough to omit one final, loud, + derisive cackle. + </p> + <p> + Above and below pandemonium broke out. + </p> + <p> + The old familiar roar of the wind was with them. The <i>Malahini</i>, + caught broadside, was pressed down almost on her beam ends as she swung + the arc compelled by her anchors. They rounded her into the wind, where + she jerked to an even keel. The propeller was thrown on, and the engine + took up its work again. + </p> + <p> + “Northwest!” Captain Warfield shouted to Grief when he came on deck. + “Hauled eight points like a shot!” + </p> + <p> + “Narii'll never get across the lagoon now!” Grief observed. + </p> + <p> + “Then he'll blow back to our side, worse luck!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + After the passing of the centre the barometer began to rise. Equally rapid + was the fall of the wind. When it was no more than a howling gale, the + engine lifted up in the air, parted its bed-plates with a last convulsive + effort of its forty horsepower, and lay down on its side. A wash of water + from the bilge sizzled over it and the steam arose in clouds. The engineer + wailed his dismay, but Grief glanced over the wreck affectionately and + went into the cabin to swab the grease off his chest and arms with bunches + of cotton waste. + </p> + <p> + The sun was up and the gentlest of summer breezes blowing when he came on + deck, after sewing up the scalp of one Kanaka and setting the other's arm. + The <i>Malahini</i> lay close in to the beach. For'ard, Hermann and the + crew were heaving in and straightening out the tangle of anchors. The <i>Papara</i> + and the <i>Tahaa</i> were gone, and Captain Warfield, through the glasses, + was searching the opposite rim of the atoll. + </p> + <p> + “Not a stick left of them,” he said. “That's what comes of not having + engines. They must have dragged across before the big shift came.” + </p> + <p> + Ashore, where Parlay's house had been, was no vestige of any house. For + the space of three hundred yards, where the sea had breached, no tree or + even stump was left. Here and there, farther along, stood an occasional + palm, and there were numbers which had been snapped off above the ground. + In the crown of one surviving palm Tai-Hotauri asserted he saw something + move. There were no boats left to the <i>Malahini</i>, and they watched + him swim ashore and climb the tree. + </p> + <p> + When he came back, they helped over the rail a young native girl of + Parley's household. But first she passed up to them a battered basket. In + it was a litter of blind kittens—all dead save one, that feebly + mewed and staggered on awkward legs. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” said Mulhall. “Who's that?” + </p> + <p> + Along the beach they saw a man walking. He moved casually, as if out for a + morning stroll. Captain Warfield gritted his teeth. It was Narii Herring. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, skipper!” Narii called, when he was abreast of them. “Can I come + aboard and get some breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield's face and neck began to swell and turn purple. He tried + to speak, but choked. + </p> + <p> + “For two cents—for two cents——” was all he could manage + to articulate. + </p> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son Of The Sun, by Jack London + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + +***** This file should be named 21971-h.htm or 21971-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/9/7/21971/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Son Of The Sun + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: June 29, 2007 [EBook #21971] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +A SON OF THE SUN + +BY JACK LONDON + + +1912 + + + +CONTENTS + + I. A Son of the Sun + + II. The Proud Goat of Aloysius Pankburn + + III. The Devils of Fuatino + + IV. The Jokers of New Gibbon + + V. A Little Account With Swithin Hall + + VI. A Goboto Night + + VII. The Feathers of the Sun + + VIII. The Peabls of Parlay + + + + +A SON OF THE SUN + + + + +Chapter One--A SON OF THE SUN + + + + +I + +The _Willi-Waw_ lay in the passage between the shore-reef and the +outer-reef. From the latter came the low murmur of a lazy surf, but the +sheltered stretch of water, not more than a hundred yards across to the +white beach of pounded coral sand, was of glass-like smoothness. Narrow +as was the passage, and anchored as she was in the shoalest place that +gave room to swing, the _Willi-Waw's_ chain rode up-and-down a clean +hundred feet. Its course could be traced over the bottom of living +coral. Like some monstrous snake, the rusty chain's slack wandered +over the ocean floor, crossing and recrossing itself several times and +fetching up finally at the idle anchor. Big rock-cod, dun and mottled, +played warily in and out of the coral. Other fish, grotesque of form and +colour, were brazenly indifferent, even when a big fish-shark drifted +sluggishly along and sent the rock-cod scuttling for their favourite +crevices. + +On deck, for'ard, a dozen blacks pottered clumsily at scraping the teak +rail. They were as inexpert at their work as so many monkeys. In fact +they looked very much like monkeys of some enlarged and prehistoric +type. Their eyes had in them the querulous plaintiveness of the monkey, +their faces were even less symmetrical than the monkey's, and, hairless +of body, they were far more ungarmented than any monkey, for clothes +they had none. Decorated they were as no monkey ever was. In holes in +their ears they carried short clay pipes, rings of turtle shell, huge +plugs of wood, rusty wire nails, and empty rifle cartridges. The calibre +of a Winchester rifle was the smallest hole an ear bore; some of the +largest holes were inches in diameter, and any single ear averaged from +three to half a dozen holes. Spikes and bodkins of polished bone or +petrified shell were thrust through their noses. On the chest of one +hung a white doorknob, on the chest of another the handle of a china +cup, on the chest of a third the brass cogwheel of an alarm clock. They +chattered in queer, falsetto voices, and, combined, did no more work +than a single white sailor. + +Aft, under an awning, were two white men. Each was clad in a six-penny +undershirt and wrapped about the loins with a strip of cloth. Belted +about the middle of each was a revolver and tobacco pouch. The sweat +stood out on their skin in myriads of globules. Here and there the +globules coalesced in tiny streams that dripped to the heated deck and +almost immediately evaporated. The lean, dark-eyed man wiped his fingers +wet with a stinging stream from his forehead and flung it from him with +a weary curse. Wearily, and without hope, he gazed seaward across the +outer-reef, and at the tops of the palms along the beach. + +"Eight o'clock, an' hell don't get hot till noon," he complained. "Wisht +to God for a breeze. Ain't we never goin' to get away?" + +The other man, a slender German of five and twenty, with the massive +forehead of a scholar and the tumble-home chin of a degenerate, did not +trouble to reply. He was busy emptying powdered quinine into a cigarette +paper. Rolling what was approximately fifty grains of the drug into a +tight wad, he tossed it into his mouth and gulped it down without the +aid of water. + +"Wisht I had some whiskey," the first man panted, after a fifteen-minute +interval of silence. + +Another equal period elapsed ere the German enounced, relevant of +nothing: + +"I'm rotten with fever. I'm going to quit you, Griffiths, when we get to +Sydney. No more tropics for me. I ought to known better when I signed on +with you." + +"You ain't been much of a mate," Griffiths replied, too hot himself to +speak heatedly. "When the beach at Guvutu heard I'd shipped you, they +all laughed. 'What? Jacobsen?' they said. 'You can't hide a square +face of trade gin or sulphuric acid that he won't smell out!' You've +certainly lived up to your reputation. I ain't had a drink for a +fortnight, what of your snoopin' my supply." + +"If the fever was as rotten in you as me, you'd understand," the mate +whimpered. + +"I ain't kickin'," Griffiths answered. "I only wisht God'd send me a +drink, or a breeze of wind, or something. I'm ripe for my next chill +to-morrow." + +The mate proffered him the quinine. Rolling a fifty-grain dose, he +popped the wad into his mouth and swallowed it dry. + +"God! God!" he moaned. "I dream of a land somewheres where they ain't no +quinine. Damned stuff of hell! I've scoffed tons of it in my time." + +Again he quested seaward for signs of wind. The usual trade-wind clouds +were absent, and the sun, still low in its climb to meridian, turned all +the sky to heated brass. One seemed to see as well as feel this heat, +and Griffiths sought vain relief by gazing shoreward. The white beach +was a searing ache to his eyeballs. The palm trees, absolutely still, +outlined flatly against the unrefreshing green of the packed jungle, +seemed so much cardboard scenery. The little black boys, playing +naked in the dazzle of sand and sun, were an affront and a hurt to the +sun-sick man. He felt a sort of relief when one, running, tripped and +fell on all-fours in the tepid sea-water. + +An exclamation from the blacks for'ard sent both men glancing seaward. +Around the near point of land, a quarter of a mile away and skirting the +reef, a long black canoe paddled into sight. + +"Gooma boys from the next bight," was the mate's verdict. + +One of the blacks came aft, treading the hot deck with the unconcern of +one whose bare feet felt no heat. This, too, was a hurt to Griffiths, +and he closed his eyes. But the next moment they were open wide. + +"White fella marster stop along Gooma boy," the black said. + +Both men were on their feet and gazing at the canoe. Aft could be seen +the unmistakable sombrero of a white man. Quick alarm showed itself on +the face of the mate. + +"It's Grief," he said. + +Griffiths satisfied himself by a long look, then ripped out a wrathful +oath. + +"What's he doing up here?" he demanded of the mate, of the aching sea +and sky, of the merciless blaze of sun, and of the whole superheated and +implacable universe with which his fate was entangled. + +The mate began to chuckle. + +"I told you you couldn't get away with it," he said. + +But Griffiths was not listening. + +"With all his money, coming around like a rent collector," he chanted +his outrage, almost in an ecstasy of anger. "He's loaded with money, +he's stuffed with money, he's busting with money. I know for a fact he +sold his Yringa plantations for three hundred thousand pounds. Bell +told me so himself last time we were drunk at Guvutu. Worth millions and +millions, and Shylocking me for what he wouldn't light his pipe with." +He whirled on the mate. "Of course you told me so. Go on and say it, and +keep on saying it. Now just what was it you did tell me so?" + +"I told you you didn't know him, if you thought you could clear the +Solomons without paying him. That man Grief is a devil, but he's +straight. I know. I told you he'd throw a thousand quid away for the fun +of it, and for sixpence fight like a shark for a rusty tin, I tell you I +know. Didn't he give his _Balakula_ to the Queensland Mission when they +lost their _Evening Star_ on San Cristobal?--and the _Balakula_ worth +three thousand pounds if she was worth a penny? And didn't he beat up +Strothers till he lay abed a fortnight, all because of a difference of +two pound ten in the account, and because Strothers got fresh and tried +to make the gouge go through?" + +"God strike me blind!" Griffiths cried in im-potency of rage. + +The mate went on with his exposition. + +"I tell you only a straight man can buck a straight man like him, and +the man's never hit the Solomons that could do it. Men like you and me +can't buck him. We're too rotten, too rotten all the way through. You've +got plenty more than twelve hundred quid below. Pay him, and get it over +with." + +But Griffiths gritted his teeth and drew his thin lips tightly across +them. + +"I'll buck him," he muttered--more to himself and the brazen ball of sun +than to the mate. He turned and half started to go below, then turned +back again. "Look here, Jacob-sen. He won't be here for quarter of an +hour. Are you with me? Will you stand by me?" + +"Of course I'll stand by you. I've drunk all your whiskey, haven't I? +What are you going to do?" + +"I'm not going to kill him if I can help it. But I'm not going to pay. +Take that flat." + +Jacobsen shrugged his shoulders in calm acquiescence to fate, and +Griffiths stepped to the companionway and went below. + + + + +II + +Jacobsen watched the canoe across the low reef as it came abreast and +passed on to the entrance of the passage. Griffiths, with ink-marks on +right thumb and forefinger, returned on deck Fifteen minutes later the +canoe came alongside. The man with the sombrero stood up. + +"Hello, Griffiths!" he said. "Hello, Jacobsen!" With his hand on the +rail he turned to his dusky crew. "You fella boy stop along canoe +altogether." + +As he swung over the rail and stepped on deck a hint of catlike +litheness showed in the apparently heavy body. Like the other two, he +was scantily clad. The cheap undershirt and white loin-cloth did not +serve to hide the well put up body. Heavy muscled he was, but he was +not lumped and hummocked by muscles. They were softly rounded, and, when +they did move, slid softly and silkily under the smooth, tanned skin. +Ardent suns had likewise tanned his face till it was swarthy as a +Spaniard's. The yellow mustache appeared incongruous in the midst of +such swarthiness, while the clear blue of the eyes produced a feeling of +shock on the beholder. It was difficult to realize that the skin of this +man had once been fair. + +"Where did you blow in from?" Griffiths asked, as they shook hands. "I +thought you were over in the Santa Cruz." + +"I was," the newcomer answered. "But we made a quick passage. The +_Wonder's_ just around in the bight at Gooma, waiting for wind. Some +of the bushmen reported a ketch here, and I just dropped around to see. +Well, how goes it?" + +"Nothing much. Copra sheds mostly empty, and not half a dozen tons of +ivory nuts. The women all got rotten with fever and quit, and the men +can't chase them back into the swamps. They're a sick crowd. I'd ask you +to have a drink, but the mate finished off my last bottle. I wisht to +God for a breeze of wind." + +Grief, glancing with keen carelessness from one to the other, laughed. + +"I'm glad the calm held," he said. "It enabled me to get around to see +you. My supercargo dug up that little note of yours, and I brought it +along." + +The mate edged politely away, leaving his skipper to face his trouble. + +"I'm sorry, Grief, damned sorry," Griffiths said, "but I ain't got it. +You'll have to give me a little more time." + +Grief leaned up against the companionway, surprise and pain depicted on +his face. + +"It does beat hell," he communed, "how men learn to lie in the Solomons. +The truth's not in them. Now take Captain Jensen. I'd sworn by his +truthfulness. Why, he told me only five days ago--do you want to know +what he told me?" + +Griffiths licked his lips. + +"Go on." + +"Why, he told me that you'd sold out--sold out everything, cleaned up, +and was pulling out for the New Hebrides." + +"He's a damned liar!" Griffiths cried hotly. + +Grief nodded. + +"I should say so. He even had the nerve to tell me that he'd bought two +of your stations from you--Mauri and Kahula. Said he paid you seventeen +hundred gold sovereigns, lock, stock and barrel, good will, trade-goods, +credit, and copra." + +Griffiths's eyes narrowed and glinted. The action was involuntary, and +Grief noted it with a lazy sweep of his eyes. + +"And Parsons, your trader at Hickimavi, told me that the Fulcrum Company +had bought that station from you. Now what did he want to lie for?" + +Griffiths, overwrought by sun and sickness, exploded. All his bitterness +of spirit rose up in his face and twisted his mouth into a snarl. + +"Look here, Grief, what's the good of playing with me that way? You +know, and I know you know. Let it go at that. I _have_ sold out, and I +_am_ getting away. And what are you going to do about it?" + +Grief shrugged his shoulders, and no hint of resolve shadowed itself in +his own face. His expression was as of one in a quandary. + +"There's no law here," Griffiths pressed home his advantage. "Tulagi is +a hundred and fifty miles away. I've got my clearance papers, and I'm +on my own boat. There's nothing to stop me from sailing. You've got no +right to stop me just because I owe you a little money. And by God! you +can't stop me. Put that in your pipe." + +The look of pained surprise on Grief's face deepened. + +"You mean you're going to cheat me out of that twelve hundred, +Griffiths?" + +"That's just about the size of it, old man. And calling hard names won't +help any. There's the wind coming. You'd better get overside before I +pull out, or I'll tow your canoe under." + +"Really, Griffiths, you sound almost right. I can't stop you." Grief +fumbled in the pouch that hung on his revolver-belt and pulled out a +crumpled official-looking paper. "But maybe this will stop you. And it's +something for _your_ pipe. Smoke up." + +"What is it?" + +"An admiralty warrant. Running to the New Hebrides won't save you. It +can be served anywhere." + +Griffiths hesitated and swallowed, when he had finished glancing at the +document. With knit brows he pondered this new phase of the situation. +Then, abruptly, as he looked up, his face relaxed into all frankness. + +"You were cleverer than I thought, old man," he said. "You've got me +hip and thigh. I ought to have known better than to try and beat you. +Jacobsen told me I couldn't, and I wouldn't listen to him. But he was +right, and so are you. I've got the money below. Come on down and we'll +settle." + +He started to go down, then stepped aside to let his visitor precede +him, at the same time glancing seaward to where the dark flaw of wind +was quickening the water. + +"Heave short," he told the mate. "Get up sail and stand ready to break +out." + +As Grief sat down on the edge of the mate's bunk, close against and +facing the tiny table, he noticed the butt of a revolver just projecting +from under the pillow. On the table, which hung on hinges from the +for'ard bulkhead, were pen and ink, also a battered log-book. + +"Oh, I don't mind being caught in a dirty trick," Griffiths was saying +defiantly. "I've been in the tropics too long. I'm a sick man, a damn +sick man. And the whiskey, and the sun, and the fever have made me sick +in morals, too. Nothing's too mean and low for me now, and I can +understand why the niggers eat each other, and take heads, and such +things. I could do it myself. So I call trying to do you out of that +small account a pretty mild trick. Wisht I could offer you a drink." + +Grief made no reply, and the other busied himself in attempting to +unlock a large and much-dented cash-box. From on deck came falsetto +cries and the creak and rattle of blocks as the black crew swung up +mainsail and driver. Grief watched a large cockroach crawling over the +greasy paintwork. Griffiths, with an oath of irritation, carried the +cash-box to the companion-steps for better light. Here, on his feet, and +bending over the box, his back to his visitor, his hands shot out to +the rifle that stood beside the steps, and at the same moment he whirled +about. + +"Now don't you move a muscle," he commanded. + +Grief smiled, elevated his eyebrows quizzically, and obeyed. His left +hand rested on the bunk beside him; his right hand lay on the table. + +His revolver hung on his right hip in plain sight. But in his mind was +recollection of the other revolver under the pillow. + +"Huh!" Griffiths sneered. "You've got everybody in the Solomons +hypnotized, but let me tell you you ain't got me. Now I'm going to throw +you off my vessel, along with your admiralty warrant, but first you've +got to do something. Lift up that log-book." + +The other glanced curiously at the log-book, but did not move. + +"I tell you I'm a sick man, Grief; and I'd as soon shoot you as smash a +cockroach. Lift up that log-book, I say." + +Sick he did look, his lean face working nervously with the rage that +possessed him. Grief lifted the book and set it aside. Beneath lay a +written sheet of tablet paper. + +"Read it," Griffiths commanded. "Read it aloud." + +Grief obeyed; but while he read, the fingers of his left hand began an +infinitely slow and patient crawl toward the butt of the weapon under +the pillow. + +"On board the ketch Willi-Waw, Bombi Bight, Island of Anna, Solomon +Islands," he read. "Know all men by these presents that I do hereby sign +off and release in full, for due value received, all debts whatsoever +owing to me by Harrison J. Griffiths, who has this day paid to me twelve +hundred pounds sterling." + +"With that receipt in my hands," Griffiths grinned, "your admiralty +warrant's not worth the paper it's written on. Sign it." + +"It won't do any good, Griffiths," Grief said. "A document signed under +compulsion won't hold before the law." + +"In that case, what objection have you to signing it then?" + +"Oh, none at all, only that I might save you heaps of trouble by not +signing it." + +Grief's fingers had gained the revolver, and, while he talked, with his +right hand he played with the pen and with his left began slowly and +imperceptibly drawing the weapon to his side. As his hand finally closed +upon it, second finger on trigger and forefinger laid past the cylinder +and along the barrel, he wondered what luck he would have at left-handed +snap-shooting. + +"Don't consider me," Griffiths gibed. "And just remember Jacobsen will +testify that he saw me pay the money over. Now sign, sign in full, at +the bottom, David Grief, and date it." + +From on deck came the jar of sheet-blocks and the rat-tat-tat of +the reef-points against the canvas. In the cabin they could feel the +_Willi-Waw_ heel, swing into the wind, and right. David Grief still +hesitated. From for'ard came the jerking rattle of headsail halyards +through the sheaves. The little vessel heeled, and through the cabin +walls came the gurgle and wash of water. + +"Get a move on!" Griffiths cried. "The anchor's out." + +The muzzle of the rifle, four feet away, was bearing directly on him, +when Grief resolved to act. The rifle wavered as Griffiths kept his +balance in the uncertain puffs of the first of the wind. Grief took +advantage of the wavering, made as if to sign the paper, and at the same +instant, like a cat, exploded into swift and intricate action. As he +ducked low and leaped forward with his body, his left hand flashed from +under the screen of the table, and so accurately-timed was the single +stiff pull on the self-cocking trigger that the cartridge discharged as +the muzzle came forward. Not a whit behind was Griffiths. The muzzle +of his weapon dropped to meet the ducking body, and, shot at snap +direction, rifle and revolver went off simultaneously. + +Grief felt the sting and sear of a bullet across the skin of his +shoulder, and knew that his own shot had missed. His forward rush +carried him to Griffiths before another shot could be fired, both of +whose arms, still holding the rifle, he locked with a low tackle about +the body. He shoved the revolver muzzle, still in his left hand, deep +into the other's abdomen. Under the press of his anger and the sting of +his abraded skin, Grief's finger was lifting the hammer, when the wave +of anger passed and he recollected himself. Down the companion-way came +indignant cries from the Gooma boys in his canoe. + +Everything was happening in seconds. There was apparently no pause in +his actions as he gathered Griffiths in his arms and carried him up the +steep steps in a sweeping rush. Out into the blinding glare of sunshine +he came. A black stood grinning at the wheel, and the _Willi-Waw_, +heeled over from the wind, was foaming along. Rapidly dropping astern +was his Gooma canoe. Grief turned his head. From amidships, revolver in +hand, the mate was springing toward him. With two jumps, still holding +the helpless Griffiths, Grief leaped to the rail and overboard. + +Both men were grappled together as they went down; but Grief, with +a quick updraw of his knees to the other's chest, broke the grip and +forced him down. With both feet on Griffiths's shoulder, he forced him +still deeper, at the same time driving himself to the surface. Scarcely +had his head broken into the sunshine when two splashes of water, in +quick succession and within a foot of his face, advertised that Jacobsen +knew how to handle a revolver. There was a chance for no third shot, for +Grief, filling his lungs with air, sank down. Under water he struck +out, nor did he come up till he saw the canoe and the bubbling paddles +overhead. As he climbed aboard, the _Wlli-Waw_ went into the wind to +come about. + +"Washee-washee!" Grief cried to his boys. "You fella make-um beach quick +fella time!" + +In all shamelessness, he turned his back on the battle and ran for +cover. The _Willi-Waw_, compelled to deaden way in order to pick up its +captain, gave Grief his chance for a lead. The canoe struck the beach +full-tilt, with every paddle driving, and they leaped out and ran across +the sand for the trees. But before they gained the shelter, three times +the sand kicked into puffs ahead of them. Then they dove into the green +safety of the jungle. + +Grief watched the _Willi-Waw_ haul up close, go out the passage, then +slack its sheets as it headed south with the wind abeam. As it went out +of sight past the point he could see the topsail being broken out. One +of the Gooma boys, a black, nearly fifty years of age, hideously marred +and scarred by skin diseases and old wounds, looked up into his face and +grinned. + +"My word," the boy commented, "that fella skipper too much cross along +you." + +Grief laughed, and led the way back across the sand to the canoe. + + + + +III + +How many millions David Grief was worth no man in the Solomons knew, for +his holdings and ventures were everywhere in the great South Pacific. +From Samoa to New Guinea and even to the north of the Line his +plantations were scattered. He possessed pearling concessions in the +Paumotus. Though his name did not appear, he was in truth the German +company that traded in the French Marquesas. His trading stations were +in strings in all the groups, and his vessels that operated them were +many. He owned atolls so remote and tiny that his smallest schooners and +ketches visited the solitary agents but once a year. + +In Sydney, on Castlereagh Street, his offices occupied three floors. +But he was rarely in those offices. He preferred always to be on the go +amongst the islands, nosing out new investments, inspecting and shaking +up old ones, and rubbing shoulders with fun and adventure in a thousand +strange guises. He bought the wreck of the great steamship _Gavonne_ +for a song, and in salving it achieved the impossible and cleaned up a +quarter of a million. In the Louisiades he planted the first commercial +rubber, and in Bora-Bora he ripped out the South Sea cotton and put the +jolly islanders at the work of planting cacao. It was he who took the +deserted island of Lallu-Ka, colonized it with Polynesians from the +Ontong-Java Atoll, and planted four thousand acres to cocoanuts. And it +was he who reconciled the warring chief-stocks of Tahiti and swung the +great deal of the phosphate island of Hikihu. + +His own vessels recruited his contract labour. They brought Santa +Cruz boys to the New Hebrides, New Hebrides boys to the Banks, and the +head-hunting cannibals of Malaita to the plantations of New Georgia. +From Tonga to the Gilberts and on to the far Louisiades his recruiters +combed the islands for labour. His keels plowed all ocean stretches. He +owned three steamers on regular island runs, though he rarely elected to +travel in them, preferring the wilder and more primitive way of wind and +sail. + +At least forty years of age, he looked no more than thirty. Yet +beachcombers remembered his advent among the islands a score of years +before, at which time the yellow mustache was already budding silkily on +his lip. Unlike other white men in the tropics, he was there because he +liked it. His protective skin pigmentation was excellent. He had +been born to the sun. One he was in ten thousand in the matter of +sun-resistance. The invisible and high-velocity light waves failed to +bore into him. Other white men were pervious. The sun drove through +their skins, ripping and smashing tissues and nerves, till they became +sick in mind and body, tossed most of the Decalogue overboard, descended +to beastliness, drank themselves into quick graves, or survived so +savagely that war vessels were sometimes sent to curb their license. + +But David Grief was a true son of the sun, and he flourished in all its +ways. He merely became browner with the passing of the years, though +in the brown was the hint of golden tint that glows in the skin of the +Polynesian. Yet his blue eyes retained their blue, his mustache its +yellow, and the lines of his face were those which had persisted through +the centuries in his English race. English he was in blood, yet those +that thought they knew contended he was at least American born. Unlike +them, he had not come out to the South Seas seeking hearth and saddle of +his own. In fact, he had brought hearth and saddle with him. His advent +had been in the Paumotus. He arrived on board a tiny schooner yacht, +master and owner, a youth questing romance and adventure along the +sun-washed path of the tropics. He also arrived in a hurricane, the +giant waves of which deposited him and yacht and all in the thick of a +cocoanut grove three hundred yards beyond the surf. Six months later he +was rescued by a pearling cutter. But the sun had got into his blood. +At Tahiti, instead of taking a steamer home, he bought a schooner, +outfitted her with trade-goods and divers, and went for a cruise through +the Dangerous Archipelago. + +As the golden tint burned into his face it poured molten out of the ends +of his fingers. His was the golden touch, but he played the game, not +for the gold, but for the game's sake. It was a man's game, the rough +contacts and fierce give and take of the adventurers of his own blood +and of half the bloods of Europe and the rest of the world, and it was a +good game; but over and beyond was his love of all the other things +that go to make up a South Seas rover's life--the smell of the reef; +the infinite exquisiteness of the shoals of living coral in the +mirror-surfaced lagoons; the crashing sunrises of raw colours spread +with lawless cunning; the palm-tufted islets set in turquoise deeps; +the tonic wine of the trade-winds; the heave and send of the orderly, +crested seas; the moving deck beneath his feet, the straining canvas +overhead; the flower-garlanded, golden-glowing men and maids of +Polynesia, half-children and half-gods; and even the howling savages of +Melanesia, head-hunters and man-eaters, half-devil and all beast. + +And so, favoured child of the sun, out of munificence of energy and +sheer joy of living, he, the man of many millions, forbore on his far +way to play the game with Harrison J. Griffiths for a paltry sum. It was +his whim, his desire, his expression of self and of the sun-warmth that +poured through him. It was fun, a joke, a problem, a bit of play on +which life was lightly hazarded for the joy of the playing. + + + + +IV + +The early morning found the _Wonder_ laying close-hauled along the coast +of Guadalcanal She moved lazily through the water under the dying breath +of the land breeze. To the east, heavy masses of clouds promised a +renewal of the southeast trades, accompanied by sharp puffs and rain +squalls. Ahead, laying along the coast on the same course as the +_Wonder_, and being slowly overtaken, was a small ketch. It was not the +_Willi-Waw_, however, and Captain Ward, on the _Wonder_, putting down +his glasses, named it the _Kauri_. + +Grief, just on deck from below, sighed regretfully. + +"If it had only been the _Willi-Waw_" he said. + +"You do hate to be beaten," Denby, the supercargo, remarked +sympathetically. + +"I certainly do." Grief paused and laughed with genuine mirth. "It's my +firm conviction that Griffiths is a rogue, and that he treated me quite +scurvily yesterday. 'Sign,' he says, 'sign in full, at the bottom, and +date it,' And Jacobsen, the little rat, stood in with him. It was rank +piracy, the days of Bully Hayes all over again." + +"If you weren't my employer, Mr. Grief, I'd like to give you a piece of +my mind," Captain Ward broke in. + +"Go on and spit it out," Grief encouraged. + +"Well, then--" The captain hesitated and cleared his throat. "With all +the money you've got, only a fool would take the risk you did with those +two curs. What do you do it for?" + +"Honestly, I don't know, Captain. I just want to, I suppose. And can you +give any better reason for anything you do?" + +"You'll get your bally head shot off some fine day," Captain Ward +growled in answer, as he stepped to the binnacle and took the bearing +of a peak which had just thrust its head through the clouds that covered +Guadalcanar. + +The land breeze strengthened in a last effort, and the _Wonder_, +slipping swiftly through the water, ranged alongside the _Kauri_ and +began to go by. Greetings flew back and forth, then David Grief called +out: + +"Seen anything of the _Willi-Waw_?" + +The captain, slouch-hatted and barelegged, with a rolling twist hitched +the faded blue _lava-lava_ tighter around his waist and spat tobacco +juice overside. + +"Sure," he answered. "Griffiths lay at Savo last night, taking on pigs +and yams and filling his water-tanks. Looked like he was going for a +long cruise, but he said no. Why? Did you want to see him?" + +"Yes; but if you see him first don't tell him you've seen me." + +The captain nodded and considered, and walked for'ard on his own deck to +keep abreast of the faster vessel. + +"Say!" he called. "Jacobsen told me they were coming down this afternoon +to Gabera. Said they were going to lay there to-night and take on sweet +potatoes." + +"Gabera has the only leading lights in the Solomons," Grief said, when +his schooner had drawn well ahead. "Is that right, Captain Ward?" + +The captain nodded. + +"And the little bight just around the point on this side, it's a rotten +anchorage, isn't it?" + +"No anchorage. All coral patches and shoals, and a bad surf. That's +where the _Molly_ went to pieces three years ago." + +Grief stared straight before him with lustreless eyes for a full minute, +as if summoning some vision to his inner sight. Then the corners of his +eyes wrinkled and the ends of his yellow mustache lifted in a smile. + +"We'll anchor at Gabera," he said. "And run in close to the little bight +this side. I want you to drop me in a whaleboat as you go by. Also, +give me six boys, and serve out rifles. I'll be back on board before +morning." + +The captain's face took on an expression of suspicion, which swiftly +slid into one of reproach. + +"Oh, just a little fun, skipper," Grief protested with the apologetic +air of a schoolboy caught in mischief by an elder. + +Captain Ward grunted, but Denby was all alertness. + +"I'd like to go along, Mr. Grief," he said. + +Grief nodded consent. + +"Bring some axes and bush-knives," he said. "And, oh, by the way, a +couple of bright lanterns. See they've got oil in them." + + + + +V + +An hour before sunset the _Wonder_ tore by the little bight. The wind +had freshened, and a lively sea was beginning to make. The shoals +toward the beach were already white with the churn of water, while those +farther out as yet showed no more sign than of discoloured water. As +the schooner went into the wind and backed her jib and staysail the +whaleboat was swung out. Into it leaped six breech-clouted Santa Cruz +boys, each armed with a rifle. Denby, carrying the lanterns, dropped +into the stern-sheets. Grief, following, paused on the rail. + +"Pray for a dark night, skipper," he pleaded. + +"You'll get it," Captain Ward answered. "There's no moon anyway, and +there won't be any sky. She'll be a bit squally, too." + +The forecast sent a radiance into Grief's face, making more pronounced +the golden tint of his sunburn. He leaped down beside the supercargo. + +"Cast off!" Captain Ward ordered. "Draw the headsails! Put your wheel +over! There! Steady! Take that course!" + +The _Wonder_ filled away and ran on around the point for Gabera, while +the whaleboat, pulling six oars and steered by Grief, headed for the +beach. With superb boatmanship he threaded the narrow, tortuous channel +which no craft larger than a whaleboat could negotiate, until the shoals +and patches showed seaward and they grounded on the quiet, rippling +beach. + +The next hour was filled with work. Moving about among the wild +cocoanuts and jungle brush, Grief selected the trees. + +"Chop this fella tree; chop that fella tree," he told his blacks. "No +chop that other fella," he said, with a shake of head. + +In the end, a wedge-shaped segment of jungle was cleared. Near to the +beach remained one long palm. At the apex of the wedge stood another. +Darkness was falling as the lanterns were lighted, carried up the two +trees, and made fast. + +"That outer lantern is too high." David Grief studied it critically. +"Put it down about ten feet, Denby." + + + + +VI + +The _Willi-Waw_ was tearing through the water with a bone in her teeth, +for the breath of the passing squall was still strong. The blacks were +swinging up the big mainsail, which had been lowered on the run when the +puff was at its height. Jacobsen, superintending the operation, ordered +them to throw the halyards down on deck and stand by, then went for'ard +on the lee-bow and joined Griffiths. Both men stared with wide-strained +eyes at the blank wall of darkness through which they were flying, their +ears tense for the sound of surf on the invisible shore. It was by this +sound that they were for the moment steering. + +The wind fell lighter, the scud of clouds thinned and broke, and in the +dim glimmer of starlight loomed the jungle-clad coast. Ahead, and well +on the lee-bow, appeared a jagged rock-point. Both men strained to it. + +"Amboy Point," Griffiths announced. "Plenty of water close up. Take the +wheel, Jacobsen, till we set a course. Get a move on!" + +Running aft, barefooted and barelegged, the rainwater dripping from his +scant clothing, the mate displaced the black at the wheel. + +"How's she heading?" Griffiths called. + +"South-a-half-west!" + +"Let her come up south-by-west! Got it?" + +"Right on it!" + +Griffiths considered the changed relation of Amboy Point to the +_Willi-Waw_'s course. + +"And a-half-west!" he cried. + +"And a-half-west!" came the answer. "Right on it!" + +"Steady! That'll do!" + +"Steady she is!" Jacobsen turned the wheel over to the savage. "You +steer good fella, savve?" he warned. "No good fella, I knock your damn +black head off." + +Again he went for'ard and joined the other, and again the cloud-scud +thickened, the star-glimmer vanished, and the wind rose and screamed in +another squall. + +"Watch that mainsail!" Griffiths yelled in the mate's ear, at the same +time studying the ketch's behaviour. + +Over she pressed, and lee-rail under, while he measured the weight of +the wind and quested its easement. The tepid sea-water, with here and +there tiny globules of phosphorescence, washed about his ankles and +knees. The wind screamed a higher note, and every shroud and stay +sharply chorused an answer as the _Willi-Waw_ pressed farther over and +down. + +"Down mainsail!" Griffiths yelled, springing to the peak-halyards, +thrusting away the black who held on, and casting off the turn. + +Jacobsen, at the throat-halyards, was performing the like office. The +big sail rattled down, and the blacks, with shouts and yells, threw +themselves on the battling canvas. The mate, finding one skulking in the +darkness, flung his bunched knuckles into the creature's face and drove +him to his work. + +The squall held at its high pitch, and under her small canvas the +_Willi-Waw_ still foamed along. Again the two men stood for'ard and +vainly watched in the horizontal drive of rain. + +"We're all right," Griffiths said. "This rain won't last. We can hold +this course till we pick up the lights. Anchor in thirteen fathoms. +You'd better overhaul forty-five on a night like this. After that get +the gaskets on the mainsail. We won't need it." + +Half an hour afterward his weary eyes were rewarded by a glimpse of two +lights. + +"There they are, Jacobsen. I'll take the wheel. Run down the +fore-staysail and stand by to let go. Make the niggers jump." + +Aft, the spokes of the wheel in his hands, Griffiths held the course +till the two lights came in line, when he abruptly altered and headed +directly in for them. He heard the tumble and roar of the surf, but +decided it was farther away--as it should be, at Gabera. + +He heard the frightened cry of the mate, and was grinding the wheel down +with all his might, when the _Willi-Waw_ struck. At the same instant +her mainmast crashed over the bow. Five wild minutes followed. All hands +held on while the hull upheaved and smashed down on the brittle +coral and the warm seas swept over them. Grinding and crunching, the +_Willi-Waw_ worked itself clear over the shoal patch and came solidly to +rest in the comparatively smooth and shallow channel beyond. + +Griffiths sat down on the edge of the cabin, head bowed on chest, in +silent wrath and bitterness. Once he lifted his face to glare at the two +white lights, one above the other and perfectly in line. + +"There they are," he said. "And this isn't Gabera. Then what the hell is +it?" + +Though the surf still roared and across the shoal flung its spray +and upper wash over them, the wind died down and the stars came out. +Shoreward came the sound of oars. + +"What have you had?--an earthquake?" Griffiths called out. "The bottom's +all changed. I've anchored here a hundred times in thirteen fathoms. Is +that you, Wilson?" + +A whaleboat came alongside, and a man climbed over the rail. In the +faint light Griffiths found an automatic Colt's thrust into his face, +and, looking up, saw David Grief. + +"No, you never anchored here before," Grief laughed. "Gabera's just +around the point, where I'll be as soon as I've collected that little +sum of twelve hundred pounds. We won't bother for the receipt. I've your +note here, and I'll just return it." + +"You did this!" Griffiths cried, springing to his feet in a sudden gust +of rage. "You faked those leading lights! You've wrecked me, and by--" + +"Steady! Steady!" Grief's voice was cool and menacing. "I'll trouble you +for that twelve hundred, please." + +To Griffiths, a vast impotence seemed to descend upon him. He was +overwhelmed by a profound disgust--disgust for the sunlands and the +sun-sickness, for the futility of all his endeavour, for this blue-eyed, +golden-tinted, superior man who defeated him on all his ways. + +"Jacobsen," he said, "will you open the cash-box and pay this--this +bloodsucker--twelve hundred pounds?" + + + + + +Chapter Two--THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS PANKBURN + + + + +I + +Quick eye that he had for the promise of adventure, prepared always for +the unexpected to leap out at him from behind the nearest cocoanut +tree, nevertheless David Grief received no warning when he laid eyes on +Aloysius Pankburn. It was on the little steamer _Berthe_. Leaving his +schooner to follow, Grief had taken passage for the short run across +from Raiatea to Papeete. When he first saw Aloysius Pankburn, that +somewhat fuddled gentleman was drinking a lonely cocktail at the tiny +bar between decks next to the barber shop. And when Grief left the +barber's hands half an hour later Aloysius Pankburn was still hanging +over the bar still drinking by himself. + +Now it is not good for man to drink alone, and Grief threw sharp +scrutiny into his pass-ing glance. He saw a well-built young man of +thirty, well-featured, well-dressed, and evidently, in the world's +catalogue, a gentleman. But in the faint hint of slovenliness, in +the shaking, eager hand that spilled the liquor, and in the nervous, +vacillating eyes, Grief read the unmistakable marks of the chronic +alcoholic. + +After dinner he chanced upon Pankburn again. This time it was on deck, +and the young man, clinging to the rail and peering into the distance +at the dim forms of a man and woman in two steamer chairs drawn closely +together, was crying, drunkenly. Grief noted that the man's arm was +around the woman's waist. Aloysius Pankburn looked on and cried. + +"Nothing to weep about," Grief said genially. + +Pankburn looked at him, and gushed tears of profound self-pity. + +"It's hard," he sobbed. "Hard. Hard. That man's my business manager. I +employ him. I pay him a good screw. And that's how he earns it." + +"In that case, why don't you put a stop to it?" Grief advised. + +"I can't. She'd shut off my whiskey. She's my trained nurse." + +"Fire _her_, then, and drink your head off." + +"I can't. He's got all my money. If I did, he wouldn't give me sixpence +to buy a drink with." + +This woful possibility brought a fresh wash of tears. Grief was +interested. Of all unique situations he could never have imagined such a +one as this. + +"They were engaged to take care of me," Pankburn was blubbering, "to +keep me away from the drink. And that's the way they do it, lollygagging +all about the ship and letting me drink myself to death. It isn't right, +I tell you. It isn't right. They were sent along with me for the express +purpose of not letting me drink, and they let me drink to swinishness +as long as I leave them alone. If I complain they threaten not to let me +have another drop. What can a poor devil do? My death will be on their +heads, that's all. Come on down and join me." + +He released his clutch on the rail, and would have fallen had Grief +not caught his arm. He seemed to undergo a transformation, to stiffen +physically, to thrust his chin forward aggressively, and to glint +harshly in his eyes. + +"I won't let them kill me. And they'll be sorry. I've offered them fifty +thousand--later on, of course. They laughed. They don't know. But I +know." He fumbled in his coat pocket and drew forth an object that +flashed in the faint light. "They don't know the meaning of that. But I +do." He looked at Grief with abrupt suspicion. "What do you make out of +it, eh? What do you make out of it?" + +David Grief caught a swift vision of an alcoholic degenerate putting +a very loving young couple to death with a copper spike, for a +copper spike was what he held in his hand, an evident old-fashioned +ship-fastening. + +"My mother thinks I'm up here to get cured of the booze habit. She +doesn't know. I bribed the doctor to prescribe a voyage. When we get to +Papeete my manager is going to charter a schooner and away we'll sail. +But they don't dream. They think it's the booze. I know. I only know. +Good night, sir. I'm going to bed--unless--er--you'll join me in a night +cap. One last drink, you know." + + + + +II + +In the week that followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarre +glimpses of Aloysius Pankburn. So did everybody else in the little +island capital; for neither the beach nor Lavina's boarding house +had been so scandalized in years. In midday, bareheaded, clad only +in swimming trunks, Aloysius Pankburn ran down the main street from +Lavina's to the water front. He put on the gloves with a fireman from +the _Berthe_ in a scheduled four-round bout at the _Folies Bergeres_, +and was knocked out in the second round. He tried insanely to drown +himself in a two-foot pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly from +fifty feet up in the rigging of the _Mariposa_ lying at the wharf, and +chartered the cutter _Toerau_ at more than her purchase price and was +only saved by his manager's refusal financially to ratify the agreement. +He bought out the old blind leper at the market, and sold breadfruit, +plantains, and sweet potatoes at such cut-rates that the gendarmes +were called out to break the rush of bargain-hunting natives. For that +matter, three times the gendarmes arrested him for riotous behaviour, +and three times his manager ceased from love-making long enough to pay +the fines imposed by a needy colonial administration. + +Then the _Mariposa_ sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suite +were the manager and the trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing, +the manager had thoughtfully bestowed eight five-pound banknotes on +Aloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloysius awoke several days +later to find himself broke and perilously near to delirium tremens. +Lavina, famed for her good heart even among the driftage of South +Pacific rogues and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filter +into his returning intelligence that there was neither manager nor money +to pay his board. + +It was several evenings after this that David Grief, lounging under +the after deck awning of the _Kittiwake_ and idly scanning the meagre +columns of the Papeete _Avant-Coureur_, sat suddenly up and almost +rubbed his eyes. It was unbelievable, but there it was. The old South +Seas Romance was not dead. He read: + + WANTED--To exchange a half interest in buried treasure, + worth five million francs, for transportation for one to an + unknown island in the Pacific and facilities for carrying + away the loot. Ask for FOLLY, at Lavina's. + +Grief looked at his watch. It was early yet, only eight o'clock. + +"Mr. Carlsen," he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. "Get the +crew for the whale-boat. I'm going ashore." + +The husky voice of the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half a +dozen strapping Rapa Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat. + +"I came to see Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine," David Grief told Lavina. + +He noted the quick interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flung +a command in native across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. A +few minutes later a barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head. + +Lavina's disappointment was evident. + +"You're stopping aboard the _Kittiwake_, aren't you?" she said. "I'll +tell him you called." + +"Then it is a _he?_" Grief queried. + +Lavina nodded. + +"I hope you can do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only a +good-natured woman. I don't know. But he's a likable man, and he may be +telling the truth; I don't know. You'll know. You're not a soft-hearted +fool like me. Can't I mix you a cocktail?" + + + + +III + +Back on board his schooner and dozing in a deck chair under a +three-months-old magazine, David Grief was aroused by a sobbing, +slubbering noise from overside. He opened his eyes. From the Chilian +cruiser, a quarter of a mile away, came the stroke of eight bells. It +was midnight. From overside came a splash and another slubbering noise. +To him it seemed half amphibian, half the sounds of a man crying to +himself and querulously chanting his sorrows to the general universe. + +A jump took David Grief to the low rail. Beneath, centred about the +slubbering noise, was an area of agitated phosphorescence. Leaning over, +he locked his hand under the armpit of a man, and, with pull and heave +and quick-changing grips, he drew on deck the naked form of Aloysius +Pankburn. + +"I didn't have a sou-markee," he complained. "I had to swim it, and I +couldn't find your gangway. It was very miserable. Pardon me. If you +have a towel to put about my middle, and a good stiff drink, I'll be +more myself. I'm Mr. Folly, and you're the Captain Grief, I presume, +who called on me when I was out. No, I'm not drunk. Nor am I cold. This +isn't shivering. Lavina allowed me only two drinks to-day. I'm on the +edge of the horrors, that's all, and I was beginning to see things +when I couldn't find the gangway. If you'll take me below I'll be very +grateful. You are the only one that answered my advertisement." + +He was shaking pitiably in the warm night, and down in the cabin, before +he got his towel, Grief saw to it that a half-tumbler of whiskey was in +his hand. + +"Now fire ahead," Grief said, when he had got his guest into a shirt +and a pair of duck trousers. "What's this advertisement of yours? I'm +listening." + +Pankburn looked at the whiskey bottle, but Grief shook his head. + +"All right, Captain, though I tell you on whatever is left of my honour +that I am not drunk--not in the least. Also, what I shall tell you is +true, and I shall tell it briefly, for it is clear to me that you are +a man of affairs and action. Likewise, your chemistry is good. To you +alcohol has never been a million maggots gnawing at every cell of you. +You've never been to hell. I am there now. I am scorching. Now listen. + +"My mother is alive. She is English. I was born in Australia. I +was educated at York and Yale. I am a master of arts, a doctor of +philosophy, and I am no good. Furthermore, I am an alcoholic. I have +been an athlete. I used to swan-dive a hundred and ten feet in the +clear. I hold several amateur records. I am a fish. I learned the +crawl-stroke from the first of the Cavilles. I have done thirty miles +in a rough sea. I have another record. I have punished more whiskey than +any man of my years. I will steal sixpence from you for the price of a +drink. Finally, I will tell you the truth. + +"My father was an American--an Annapolis man. He was a midshipman in the +War of the Rebellion. In '66 he was a lieutenant on the _Suwanee_. Her +captain was Paul Shirley. In '66 the Suwanee coaled at an island in the +Pacific which I do not care to mention, under a protectorate which did +not exist then and which shall be nameless. Ashore, behind the bar of a +public house, my father saw three copper spikes--ship's spikes." + +David Grief smiled quietly. + +"And now I can tell you the name of the coaling station and of the +protectorate that came afterward," he said. + +"And of the three spikes?" Pankburn asked with equal quietness. "Go +ahead, for they are in my possession now." + +"Certainly. They were behind German Oscar's bar at Peenoo-Peenee. Johnny +Black brought them there from off his schooner the night he died. He was +just back from a long cruise to the westward, fishing beche-de-mer and +sandalwood trading. All the beach knows the tale." + +Pankburn shook his head. + +"Go on," he urged. + +"It was before my time, of course," Grief explained. "I only tell what +I've heard. Next came the Ecuadoran cruiser, of all directions, in from +the westward, and bound home. Her officers recognized the spikes. Johnny +Black was dead. They got hold of his mate and logbook. Away to the +westward went she. Six months after, again bound home, she dropped in at +Peenoo-Peenee. She had failed, and the tale leaked out." + +"When the revolutionists were marching on Guayaquil," Pankburn took it +up, "the federal officers, believing a defence of the city hopeless, +salted down the government treasure chest, something like a million +dollars gold, but all in English coinage, and put it on board the +American schooner _Flirt_. They were going to run at daylight. The +American captain skinned out in the middle of the night. Go on." + +"It's an old story," Grief resumed. "There was no other vessel in the +harbour. The federal leaders couldn't run. They put their backs to the +wall and held the city. Rohjas Salced, making a forced march from Quito, +raised the siege. The revolution was broken, and the one ancient steamer +that constituted the Ecuadoran navy was sent in pursuit of the _Flirt_. +They caught her, between the Banks Group and the New Hebrides, hove +to and flying distress signals. The captain had died the day +before--blackwater fever." + +"And the mate?" Pankburn challenged. + +"The mate had been killed a week earlier by the natives on one of the +Banks, when they sent a boat in for water. There were no navigators +left. The men were put to the torture. It was beyond international law. +They wanted to confess, but couldn't. They told of the three spikes in +the trees on the beach, but where the island was they did not know. To +the westward, far to the westward, was all they knew. The tale now goes +two ways. One is that they all died under the torture. The other is that +the survivors were swung at the yardarm. At any rate, the Ecuadoran +cruiser went home without the treasure. Johnny Black brought the three +spikes to Peenoo-Peenee, and left them at German Oscar's, but how and +where he found them he never told." + +Pankburn looked hard at the whiskey bottle. + +"Just two fingers," he whimpered. + +Grief considered, and poured a meagre drink. Pankburn's eyes sparkled, +and he took new lease of life. + +"And this is where I come in with the missing details," he said. "Johnny +Black did tell. He told my father. Wrote him from Levuka, before he came +on to die at Peenoo-Peenee. My father had saved his life one rough-house +night in Valparaiso. A Chink pearler, out of Thursday Island, +prospecting for new grounds to the north of New Guinea, traded for the +three spikes with a nigger. Johnny Black bought them for copper weight. +He didn't dream any more than the Chink, but coming back he stopped for +hawksbill turtle at the very beach where you say the mate of the +_Flirt_ was killed. Only he wasn't killed. The Banks Islanders held +him prisoner, and he was dying of necrosis of the jawbone, caused by an +arrow wound in the fight on the beach. Before he died he told the yarn +to Johnny Black. Johnny Black wrote my father from Levuka. He was at the +end of his rope--cancer. My father, ten years afterward, when captain of +the _Perry_, got the spikes from German Oscar. And from my father, last +will and testament, you know, came the spikes and the data. I have the +island, the latitude and longitude of the beach where the three spikes +were nailed in the trees. The spikes are up at Lavina's now. The +latitude and longitude are in my head. Now what do you think?" + +"Fishy," was Grief's instant judgment. "Why didn't your father go and +get it himself?" + +"Didn't need it. An uncle died and left him a fortune. He retired from +the navy, ran foul of an epidemic of trained nurses in Boston, and my +mother got a divorce. Also, she fell heir to an income of something like +thirty thousand dollars, and went to live in New Zealand. I was divided +between them, half-time New Zealand, half-time United States, until my +father's death last year. Now my mother has me altogether. He left me +his money--oh, a couple of millions--but my mother has had guardians +appointed on account of the drink. I'm worth all kinds of money, but I +can't touch a penny save what is doled out to me. But the old man, who +had got the tip on my drinking, left me the three spikes and the data +thereunto pertaining. Did it through his lawyers, unknown to my mother; +said it beat life insurance, and that if I had the backbone to go and +get it I could drink my back teeth awash until I died. Millions in the +hands of my guardians, slathers of shekels of my mother's that'll be +mine if she beats me to the crematory, another million waiting to be dug +up, and in the meantime I'm cadging on Lavina for two drinks a day. It's +hell, isn't it?--when you consider my thirst." + +"Where's the island?" + +"It's a long way from here." + +"Name it." + +"Not on your life, Captain Grief. You're making an easy half-million out +of this. You will sail under my directions, and when we're well to sea +and on our way I'll tell you and not before." + +Grief shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the subject. + +"When I've given you another drink I'll send the boat ashore with you," +he said. + +Pankburn was taken aback. For at least five minutes he debated with +himself, then licked his lips and surrendered. + +"If you promise to go, I'll tell you now." + +"Of course I'm willing to go. That's why I asked you. Name the island." + +Pankburn looked at the bottle. + +"I'll take that drink now, Captain." + +"No you won't. That drink was for you if you went ashore. If you are +going to tell me the island, you must do it in your sober senses." + +"Francis Island, if you will have it. Bougainville named it Barbour +Island." + +"Off there all by its lonely in the Little Coral Sea," Grief said. "I +know it. Lies between New Ireland and New Guinea. A rotten hole now, +though it was all right when the _Flirt_ drove in the spikes and the +Chink pearler traded for them. The steamship _Castor_, recruiting labour +for the Upolu plantations, was cut off there with all hands two years +ago. I knew her captain well. The Germans sent a cruiser, shelled the +bush, burned half a dozen villages, killed a couple of niggers and a lot +of pigs, and--and that was all. The niggers always were bad there, but +they turned really bad forty years ago. That was when they cut off a +whaler. Let me see? What was her name?" + +He stepped to the bookshelf, drew out the bulky "South Pacific +Directory," and ran through its pages. + +"Yes. Here it is. Francis, or Barbour," he skimmed. "Natives warlike and +treacherous--Melanesian--cannibals. Whaleship _Western_ cut off--that +was her name. Shoals--points--anchorages--ah, Redscar, Owen Bay, +Likikili Bay, that's more like it; deep indentation, mangrove +swamps, good holding in nine fathoms when white scar in bluff bears +west-southwest." Grief looked up. "That's your beach, Pankburn, I'll +swear." + +"Will you go?" the other demanded eagerly. + +Grief nodded. + +"It sounds good to me. Now if the story had been of a hundred millions, +or some such crazy sum, I wouldn't look at it for a moment. We'll sail +to-morrow, but under one consideration. You are to be absolutely under +my orders." + +His visitor nodded emphatically and joyously. + +"And that means no drink." + +"That's pretty hard," Pankburn whined. + +"It's my terms. I'm enough of a doctor to see you don't come to harm. +And you are to work--hard work, sailor's work. You'll stand regular +watches and everything, though you eat and sleep aft with us." + +"It's a go." Pankburn put out his hand to ratify the agreement. "If it +doesn't kill me," he added. + +David Grief poured a generous three-fingers into the tumbler and +extended it. + +"Then here's your last drink. Take it." + +Pankburn's hand went halfway out. With a sudden spasm of resolution, he +hesitated, threw back his shoulders, and straightened up his head. + +"I guess I won't," he began, then, feebly surrendering to the gnaw of +desire, he reached hastily for the glass, as if in fear that it would be +withdrawn. + + + + +IV + +It is a long traverse from Papeete in the Societies to the Little Coral +Sea--from 100 west longitude to 150 east longitude--as the crow flies +the equivalent to a voyage across the Atlantic. But the _Kittiwake_ did +not go as the crow flies. David Grief's numerous interests diverted +her course many times. He stopped to take a look-in at uninhabited Rose +Island with an eye to colonizing and planting cocoa-nuts. Next, he paid +his respects to Tui Manua, of Eastern Samoa, and opened an intrigue for +a share of the trade monopoly of that dying king's three islands. From +Apia he carried several relief agents and a load of trade goods to the +Gilberts. He peeped in at Ontong-Java Atoll, inspected his plantations +on Ysabel, and purchased lands from the salt-water chiefs of +northwestern Malaita. And all along this devious way he made a man of +Aloysius Pankburn. + +That thirster, though he lived aft, was compelled to do the work of a +common sailor. And not only did he take his wheel and lookout, and heave +on sheets and tackles, but the dirtiest and most arduous tasks were +appointed him. Swung aloft in a bosun's chair, he scraped the masts and +slushed down. Holystoning the deck or scrubbing it with fresh limes +made his back ache and developed the wasted, flabby muscles. When +the _Kittiwake_ lay at anchor and her copper bottom was scrubbed with +cocoa-nut husks by the native crew, who dived and did it under water, +Pankburn was sent down on his shift and as many times as any on the +shift. + +"Look at yourself," Grief said. "You are twice the man you were when you +came on board. You haven't had one drink, you didn't die, and the poison +is pretty well worked out of you. It's the work. It beats trained nurses +and business managers. Here, if you're thirsty. Clap your lips to this." + +With several deft strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Grief +clipped a triangular piece of shell from the end of a husked +drinking-cocoa-nut. The thin, cool liquid, slightly milky and +effervescent, bubbled to the brim. With a bow, Pankburn took the natural +cup, threw his head back, and held it back till the shell was empty. He +drank many of these nuts each day. The black steward, a New Hebrides boy +sixty years of age, and his assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw to +it that he was continually supplied. + +Pankburn did not object to the hard work. He devoured work, never +shirking and always beating the native sailors in jumping to obey a +command. But his sufferings during the period of driving the alcohol out +of his system were truly heroic. Even when the last shred of the poison +was exuded, the desire, as an obsession, remained in his head. So it +was, when, on his honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he attempted to +put the public houses out of business by drinking up their stocks in +trade. And so it was, at two in the morning, that David Grief found him +in front of the Tivoli, out of which he had been disorderly thrown by +Charley Roberts. Aloysius, as of old, was chanting his sorrows to the +stars. Also, and more concretely, he was punctuating the rhythm with +cobbles of coral stone, which he flung with amazing accuracy through +Charley Roberts's windows. + +David Grief took him away, but not till next morning did he take him +in hand. It was on the deck of the _Kittiwake_, and there was nothing +kindergarten about it. Grief struck him, with bare knuckles, punched him +and punished him--gave him the worst thrashing he had ever received. + +"For the good of your soul, Pankburn," was the way he emphasized his +blows. "For the good of your mother. For the progeny that will come +after. For the good of the world, and the universe, and the whole race +of man yet to be. And now, to hammer the lesson home, we'll do it all +over again. That, for the good of your soul; and that, for your mother's +sake; and that, for the little children, undreamed of and unborn, whose +mother you'll love for their sakes, and for love's sake, in the lease +of manhood that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on and take +your medicine. I'm not done with you yet. I've only begun. There are +many other reasons which I shall now proceed to expound." The brown +sailors and the black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far from +them was the questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensible +ways of white men. As for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accord +with the treatment his employer was administering; while Albright, the +supercargo, merely played with his mustache and smiled. They were men +of the sea. They lived life in the rough. And alcohol, in themselves as +well as in other men, was a problem they had learned to handle in ways +not taught in doctors' schools. + +"Boy! A bucket of fresh water and a towel," Grief ordered, when he had +finished. "Two buckets and two towels," he added, as he surveyed his own +hands. + +"You're a pretty one," he said to Pankburn. "You've spoiled everything. +I had the poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reeking +with it. We've got to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know that +pile of old chain on the beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buy +it, and fetch it on board. There must be a hundred and fifty fathoms of +it. Pankburn! To-morrow morning you start in pounding the rust off of +it. When you've done that, you'll sandpaper it. Then you'll paint it. +And nothing else will you do till that chain is as smooth as new." + +Aloysius Pankburn shook his head. + +"I quit. Francis Island can go to hell for all of me. I'm done with your +slave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. I'm a white man. You can't +treat me this way." + +"Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board." + +"I'll have you broken for this!" Aloysius screamed. "You can't stop me." + +"I can give you another licking," Grief answered. "And let me tell you +one thing, you besotted whelp, I'll keep on licking you as long as my +knuckles hold out or until you yearn to hammer chain rust. I've taken +you in hand, and I'm going to make a man out of you if I have to kill +you to do it. Now go below and change your clothes. Be ready to turn +to with a hammer this afternoon. Mr. Albright, get that chain aboard +pronto. Mr. Carlsen, send the boats ashore after it. Also, keep your eye +on Pankburn. If he shows signs of keeling over or going into the shakes, +give him a nip--a small one. He may need it after last night." + + + + +V + +For the rest of the time the _Kittiwake_ lay in Apia Aloysius Pankburn +pounded chain rust. Ten hours a day he pounded. And on the long stretch +across to the Gilberts he still pounded. + +Then came the sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is nine +hundred feet, and every link of all that length was smoothed and +polished as no link ever was before. And when the last link had received +its second coat of black paint, he declared himself. + +"Come on with more dirty work," he told Grief. "I'll overhaul the other +chains if you say so. And you needn't worry about me any more. I'm not +going to take another drop. I'm going to train up. You got my proud +goat when you beat me, but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily. +Train! I'm going to train till I'm as hard all the way through, and +clean all the way through, as that chain is. And some day, Mister David +Grief, somewhere, somehow, I'm going to be in such shape that I'll lick +you as you licked me. I'm going to pulp your face till your own niggers +won't know you." + +Grief was jubilant. + +"Now you're talking like a man," he cried. "The only way you'll ever +lick me is to become a man. And then, maybe--" + +He paused in the hope that the other would catch the suggestion. +Aloysius groped for it, and, abruptly, something akin to illumination +shone in his eyes. + +"And then I won't want to, you mean?" + +Grief nodded. + +"And that's the curse of it," Aloysius lamented. "I really believe I +won't want to. I see the point. But I'm going to go right on and shape +myself up just the same." + +The warm, sunburn glow in Grief's face seemed to grow warmer. His hand +went out. + +"Pankburn, I love you right now for that." + +Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity. + +"Grief," he mourned, "you've got my goat, you've got my proud goat, and +you've got it permanently, I'm afraid." + + + + +VI + +On a sultry tropic day, when the last flicker of the far southeast trade +was fading out and the seasonal change for the northwest monsoon was +coming on, the _Kittiwake_ lifted above the sea-rim the jungle-clad +coast of Francis Island. + +Grief, with compass bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano that +marked Redscar, ran past Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze at +the entrance to Likikili Bay. With the two whaleboats out and towing, +and with Carl-sen heaving the lead, the _Kittiwake_ sluggishly entered a +deep and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The mangroves began +at the water's edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, broken here and +there by jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white scar +on the bluff bore west-southwest, the lead vindicated the "Directory," +and the anchor rumbled down in nine fathoms. + +For the rest of that day and until the afternoon of the day following +they remained on the _Kittiwake_ and waited. No canoes appeared. There +were no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish or +the screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, a +huge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over their +mastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle. + +"There's no use in sending a boat in to be cut up," Grief said. + +Pankburn was incredulous, and volunteered to go in alone, to swim it if +he couldn't borrow the dingey. + +"They haven't forgotten the German cruiser," Grief explained. "And I'll +wager that bush is alive with men right now. What do you think, Mr. +Carlsen?" + +That veteran adventurer of the islands was emphatic in his agreement. + +In the late afternoon of the second day Grief ordered a whaleboat into +the water. He took his place in the bow, a live cigarette in his mouth +and a short-fused stick of dynamite in his hand, for he was bent on +shooting a mess of fish. Along the thwarts half a dozen Winchesters were +placed. Albright, who took the steering-sweep, had a Mauser within reach +of hand. They pulled in and along the green wall of vegetation. At times +they rested on the oars in the midst of a profound silence. + +"Two to one the bush is swarming with them--in quids," Albright +whispered. + +Pankburn listened a moment longer and took the bet. Five minutes later +they sighted a school of mullet. The brown rowers held their oars. Grief +touched the short fuse to his cigarette and threw the stick. So short +was the fuse that the stick exploded in the instant after it struck the +water. And in that same instant the bush exploded into life. There were +wild yells of defiance, and black and naked bodies leaped forward like +apes through the mangroves. + +In the whaleboat every rifle was lifted. Then came the wait. A hundred +blacks, some few armed with ancient Sniders, but the greater portion +armed with tomahawks, fire-hardened spears, and bone-tipped arrows, +clustered on the roots that rose out of the bay. No word was spoken. +Each party watched the other across twenty feet of water. An old, +one-eyed black, with a bristly face, rested a Snider on his hip, the +muzzle directed at Albright, who, in turn, covered him back with the +Mauser. A couple of minutes of this tableau endured. The stricken fish +rose to the surface or struggled half-stunned in the clear depths. + +"It's all right, boys," Grief said quietly. "Put down your guns and +over the side with you. Mr. Albright, toss the tobacco to that one-eyed +brute." + +While the Rapa men dived for the fish, Albright threw a bundle of +trade tobacco ashore. The one-eyed man nodded his head and writhed his +features in an attempt at amiability. Weapons were lowered, bows unbent, +and arrows put back in their quivers. + +"They know tobacco," Grief announced, as they rowed back aboard. "We'll +have visitors. You'll break out a case of tobacco, Mr. Albright, and a +few trade-knives. There's a canoe now." + +Old One-Eye, as befitted a chief and leader, paddled out alone, facing +peril for the rest of the tribe. As Carlsen leaned over the rail to help +the visitor up, he turned his head and remarked casually: + +"They've dug up the money, Mr. Grief. The old beggar's loaded with it." + +One-Eye floundered down on deck, grinning appeasingly and failing to +hide the fear he had overcome but which still possessed him. He was lame +of one leg, and this was accounted for by a terrible scar, inches deep, +which ran down the thigh from hip to knee. No clothes he wore whatever, +not even a string, but his nose, perforated in a dozen places and each +perforation the setting for a carved spine of bone, bristled like a +porcupine. Around his neck and hanging down on his dirty chest was a +string of gold sovereigns. His ears were hung with silver half-crowns, +and from the cartilage separating his nostrils depended a big English +penny, tarnished and green, but unmistakable. + +"Hold on, Grief," Pankburn said, with perfectly assumed carelessness. +"You say they know only beads and tobacco. Very well. You follow my +lead. They've found the treasure, and we've got to trade them out of it. +Get the whole crew aside and lecture them that they are to be interested +only in the pennies. Savve? Gold coins must be beneath contempt, and +silver coins merely tolerated. Pennies are to be the only desirable +things." + +Pankburn took charge of the trading. For the penny in One-Eye's nose he +gave ten sticks of tobacco. Since each stick cost David Grief a cent, +the bargain was manifestly unfair. But for the half-crowns Pankburn gave +only one stick each. The string of sovereigns he refused to consider. +The more he refused, the more One-Eye insisted on a trade. At last, with +an appearance of irritation and anger, and as a palpable concession, +Pankburn gave two sticks for the string, which was composed of ten +sovereigns. + +"I take my hat off to you," Grief said to Pankburn that night at dinner. +"The situation is patent. You've reversed the scale of value. They'll +figure the pennies as priceless possessions and the sovereigns as +beneath price. Result: they'll hang on to the pennies and force us to +trade for sovereigns. Pankburn, I drink your health! Boy!--another cup +of tea for Mr. Pankburn." + + + + +VII + +Followed a golden week. From dawn till dark a row of canoes rested +on their paddles two hundred feet away. This was the deadline. Rapa +sailors, armed with rifles, maintained it. But one canoe at a time was +permitted alongside, and but one black at a time was permitted to come +over the rail. Here, under the awning, relieving one another in hourly +shifts, the four white men carried on the trade. The rate of exchange +was that established by Pankburn with One-Eye. Five sovereigns fetched +a stick of tobacco; a hundred sovereigns, twenty sticks. Thus, a +crafty-eyed cannibal would deposit on the table a thousand dollars in +gold, and go back over the rail, hugely-satisfied, with forty cents' +worth of tobacco in his hand. + +"Hope we've got enough tobacco to hold out," Carlsen muttered dubiously, +as another case was sawed in half. + +Albright laughed. + +"We've got fifty cases below," he said, "and as I figure it, three cases +buy a hundred thousand dollars. There was only a million dollars buried, +so thirty cases ought to get it. Though, of course, we've got to allow +a margin for the silver and the pennies. That Ecuadoran bunch must have +salted down all the coin in sight." + +Very few pennies and shillings appeared, though Pankburn continually and +anxiously inquired for them. Pennies were the one thing he seemed to +desire, and he made his eyes flash covetously whenever one was produced. +True to his theory, the savages concluded that the gold, being of slight +value, must be disposed of first. A penny, worth fifty times as much as +a sovereign, was something to retain and treasure. Doubtless, in their +jungle-lairs, the wise old gray-beards put their heads together and +agreed to raise the price on pennies when the worthless gold was all +worked off. Who could tell? Mayhap the strange white men could be made +to give even twenty sticks for a priceless copper. + +By the end of the week the trade went slack. There was only the +slightest dribble of gold. An occasional penny was reluctantly disposed +of for ten sticks, while several thousand dollars in silver came in. + +On the morning of the eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beards +had matured their plan and were demanding twenty sticks for a penny, +One-Eye delivered the new rate of exchange. The white men appeared to +take it with great seriousness, for they stood together debating in low +voices. Had One-Eye understood English he would have been enlightened. + +"We've got just a little over eight hundred thousand, not counting the +silver," Grief said. "And that's about all there is. The bush tribes +behind have most probably got the other two hundred thousand. Return +in three months, and the salt-water crowd will have traded back for it; +also they will be out of tobacco by that time." + +"It would be a sin to buy pennies," Albright grinned. "It goes against +the thrifty grain of my trader's soul." + +"There's a whiff of land-breeze stirring," Grief said, looking at +Pankburn. "What do you say?" + +Pankburn nodded. + +"Very well." Grief measured the faintness and irregularity of the wind +against his cheek. + +"Mr. Carlsen, heave short, and get off the gaskets. And stand by with +the whaleboats to tow. This breeze is not dependable." + +He picked up a part case of tobacco, containing six or seven hundred +sticks, put it in One-Eye's hands, and helped that bewildered savage +over the rail. As the foresail went up the mast, a wail of consternation +arose from the canoes lying along the dead-line. And as the anchor +broke out and the _Kittiwake's_ head paid off in the light breeze, old +One-Eye, daring the rifles levelled on him, paddled alongside and +made frantic signs of his tribe's willingness to trade pennies for ten +sticks. + +"Boy!--a drinking nut," Pankburn called. + +"It's Sydney Heads for you," Grief said. "And then what?" + +"I'm coming back with you for that two hundred thousand," Pankburn +answered. "In the meantime I'm going to build an island schooner. Also, +I'm going to call those guardians of mine before the court to show cause +why my father's money should not be turned over to me. Show cause? I'll +show them cause why it should." + +He swelled his biceps proudly under the thin sleeve, reached for the two +black stewards, and put them above his head like a pair of dumbbells. + +"Come on! Swing out on that fore-boom-tackle!" Carlsen shouted from aft, +where the mainsail was being winged out. + +Pankburn dropped the stewards and raced for it, beating a Rapa sailor by +two jumps to the hauling part. + + + + +Chapter Three--THE DEVILS OF FUATINO + + + + +I + +Of his many schooners, ketches and cutters that nosed about among the +coral isles of the South Seas, David Grief loved most the _Rattler_--a +yacht-like schooner of ninety tons with so swift a pair of heels that +she had made herself famous, in the old days, opium-smuggling from San +Diego to Puget Sound, raiding the seal-rookeries of Bering Sea, and +running arms in the Far East. A stench and an abomination to government +officials, she had been the joy of all sailormen, and the pride of the +shipwrights who built her. Even now, after forty years of driving, she +was still the same old _Rattler_, fore-reaching in the same marvellous +manner that compelled sailors to see in order to believe and that +punctuated many an angry discussion with words and blows on the beaches +of all the ports from Valparaiso to Manila Bay. + +On this night, close-hauled, her big mainsail preposterously flattened +down, her luffs pulsing emptily on the lift of each smooth swell, she +was sliding an easy four knots through the water on the veriest whisper +of a breeze. For an hour David Grief had been leaning on the rail at the +lee fore-rigging, gazing overside at the steady phosphorescence of her +gait. The faint back-draught from the headsails fanned his cheek and +chest with a wine of coolness, and he was in an ecstasy of appreciation +of the schooner's qualities. + +"Eh!--She's a beauty, Taute, a beauty," he said to the Kanaka lookout, +at the same time stroking the teak of the rail with an affectionate +hand. + +"Ay, skipper," the Kanaka answered in the rich, big-chested tones of +Polynesia. "Thirty years I know ships, but never like 'this. On Raiatea +we call her _Fanauao_." + +"The Dayborn," Grief translated the love-phrase. "Who named her so?" + +About to answer, Taute peered ahead with sudden intensity. Grief joined +him in the gaze. + +"Land," said Taute. + +"Yes; Fuatino," Grief agreed, his eyes still fixed on the spot where +the star-luminous horizon was gouged by a blot of blackness. "It's all +right. I'll tell the captain." + +The _Rattler_ slid along until the loom of the island could be seen as +well as sensed, until the sleepy roar of breakers and the blatting of +goats could be heard, until the wind, off the land, was flower-drenched +with perfume. + +"If it wasn't a crevice, she could run the passage a night like this," +Captain Glass remarked regretfully, as he watched the wheel lashed hard +down by the steersman. + +The _Rattler_, run off shore a mile, had been hove to to wait until +daylight ere she attempted the perilous entrance to Fuatino. It was a +perfect tropic night, with no hint of rain or squall. For'ard, wherever +their tasks left them, the Raiatea sailors sank down to sleep on deck. +Aft, the captain and mate and Grief spread their beds with similar +languid unconcern. They lay on their blankets, smoking and murmuring +sleepy conjectures about Mataara, the Queen of Fuatino, and about the +love affair between her daughter, Naumoo, and Motuaro. + +"They're certainly a romantic lot," Brown, the mate, said. "As romantic +as we whites." + +"As romantic as Pilsach," Grief laughed, "and that is going some. How +long ago was it, Captain, that he jumped you?" + +"Eleven years," Captain Glass grunted resentfully. + +"Tell me about it," Brown pleaded. "They say he's never left Fuatino +since. Is that right?" + +"Right O," the captain rumbled. "He's in love with his wife--the little +hussy! Stole him from me, and as good a sailorman as the trade has ever +seen--if he is a Dutchman." + +"German," Grief corrected. + +"It's all the same," was the retort. "The sea was robbed of a good man +that night he went ashore and Notutu took one look at him. I reckon they +looked good to each other. Before you could say skat, she'd put a wreath +of some kind of white flowers on his head, and in five minutes they were +off down the beach, like a couple of kids, holding hands and laughing. I +hope he's blown that big coral patch out of the channel. I always start +a sheet or two of copper warping past." + +"Go on with the story," Brown urged. + +"That's all. He was finished right there. Got married that night. Never +came on board again. I looked him up next day. Found him in a straw +house in the bush, barelegged, a white savage, all mixed up with flowers +and things and playing a guitar. Looked like a bally ass. Told me to +send his things ashore. I told him I'd see him damned first. And that's +all. You'll see her to-morrow. They've got three kiddies now--wonderful +little rascals. I've a phonograph down below for him, and about a +million records." + +"And then you made him trader?" the mate inquired of Grief. + +"What else could I do? Fuatino is a love island, and Filsach is a lover. +He knows the native, too--one of the best traders I've got, or ever had. +He's responsible. You'll see him to-morrow." + +"Look here, young man," Captain Glass rumbled threateningly at his mate. +"Are you romantic? Because if you are, on board you stay. Fuatino's the +island of romantic insanity. Everybody's in love with somebody. They +live on love. It's in the milk of the cocoa-nuts, or the air, or the +sea. The history of the island for the last ten thousand years is +nothing but love affairs. I know. I've talked with the old men. And if I +catch you starting down the beach hand in hand--" + +His sudden cessation caused both the other men to look at him. They +followed his gaze, which passed across them to the main rigging, and saw +what he saw, a brown hand and arm, muscular and wet, being joined from +overside by a second brown hand and arm. A head followed, thatched with +long elfin locks, and then a face, with roguish black eyes, lined with +the marks of wildwood's laughter. + +"My God!" Brown breathed. "It's a faun--a sea-faun." + +"It's the Goat Man," said Glass. + +"It is Mauriri," said Grief. "He is my own blood brother by sacred +plight of native custom. His name is mine, and mine is his." + +Broad brown shoulders and a magnificent chest rose above the rail, and, +with what seemed effortless ease, the whole grand body followed over +the rail and noiselessly trod the deck. Brown, who might have been other +things than the mate of an island schooner, was enchanted. All that he +had ever gleaned from the books proclaimed indubitably the faun-likeness +of this visitant of the deep. "But a sad faun," was the young man's +judgment, as the golden-brown woods god strode forward to where David +Grief sat up with outstretched hand. + +"David," said David Grief. + +"Mauriri, Big Brother," said Mauriri. + +And thereafter, in the custom of men who have pledged blood brotherhood, +each called the other, not by the other's name, but by his own. Also, +they talked in the Polynesian tongue of Fuatino, and Brown could only +sit and guess. + +"A long swim to say _talofa_," Grief said, as the other sat and streamed +water on the deck. + +"Many days and nights have I watched for your coming, Big Brother," +Mauriri replied. "I have sat on the Big Rock, where the dynamite +is kept, of which I have been made keeper. I saw you come up to the +entrance and run back into darkness. I knew you waited till morning, and +I followed. Great trouble has come upon us. Mataara has cried these many +days for your coming. She is an old woman, and Motauri is dead, and she +is sad." + +"Did he marry Naumoo?" Grief asked, after he had shaken his head and +sighed by the custom. + +"Yes. In the end they ran to live with the goats, till Mataara forgave, +when they returned to live with her in the Big House. But he is now +dead, and Naumoo soon will die. Great is our trouble, Big Brother. Tori +is dead, and Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and Nari, and Pilsach, and others." + +"Pilsach, too!" Grief exclaimed. "Has there been a sickness?" + +"There has been much killing. Listen, Big Brother, Three weeks ago a +strange schooner came. From the Big Rock I saw her topsails above the +sea. She towed in with her boats, but they did not warp by the big +patch, and she pounded many times. She is now on the beach, where they +are strengthening the broken timbers. There are eight white men on +board. They have women from some island far to the east. The women +talk a language in many ways like ours, only different. But we can +understand. They say they were stolen by the men on the schooner. We do +not know, but they sing and dance and are happy." + +"And the men?" Grief interrupted. + +"They talk French. I know, for there was a mate on your schooner who +talked French long ago. There are two chief men, and they do not look +like the others. They have blue eyes like you, and they are devils. One +is a bigger devil than the other. The other six are also devils. They do +not pay us for our yams, and taro, and breadfruit. They take everything +from us, and if we complain they kill us. Thus was killed Tori, and +Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and others. We cannot fight, for we have no +guns--only two or three old guns. + +"They ill-treat our women. Thus was killed Motuaro, who made defence of +Naumoo, whom they have now taken on board their schooner. It was because +of this that Pilsach was killed. Him the chief of the two chief men, the +Big Devil, shot once in his whaleboat, and twice when he tried to crawl +up the sand of the beach. Pilsach was a brave man, and Notutu now sits +in the house and cries without end. Many of the people are afraid, and +have run to live with the goats. But there is not food for all in the +high mountains. And the men will not go out and fish, and they work no +more in the gardens because of the devils who take all they have. And we +are ready to fight. + +"Big Brother, we need guns, and much ammunition. I sent word before I +swam out to you, and the men are waiting. The strange white men do not +know you are come. Give me a boat, and the guns, and I will go back +before the sun. And when you come to-morrow we will be ready for the +word from you to kill the strange white men. They must be killed. Big +Brother, you have ever been of the blood with us, and the men and women +have prayed to many gods for your coming. And you are come." + +"I will go in the boat with you," Grief said. + +"No, Big Brother," was Mauriri's reply. "You must be with the schooner. +The strange white men will fear the schooner, not us. We will have the +guns, and they will not know. It is only when they see your schooner +come that they will be alarmed. Send the young man there with the boat." + +So it was that Brown, thrilling with all the romance and adventure he +had read and guessed and never lived, took his place in the sternsheets +of a whaleboat, loaded with rifles and cartridges, rowed by four Baiatea +sailors, steered by a golden-brown, sea-swimming faun, and directed +through the warm tropic darkness toward the half-mythical love island of +Fuatino, which had been invaded by twentieth century pirates. + + + + +II + +If a line be drawn between Jaluit, in the Marshall Group, and +Bougainville, in the Solomons, and if this line be bisected at two +degrees south of the equator by a line drawn from Ukuor, in the +Carolines, the high island of Fuatino will be raised in that sun-washed +stretch of lonely sea. Inhabited by a stock kindred to the Hawaiian, +the Samoan, the Tahitian, and the Maori, Fuatino becomes the apex of the +wedge driven by Polynesia far to the west and in between Melanesia and +Micronesia. And it was Fuatino that David Grief raised next morning, +two miles to the east and in direct line with the rising sun. The same +whisper of a breeze held, and the _Rattler_ slid through the smooth sea +at a rate that would have been eminently proper for an island schooner +had the breeze been thrice as strong. + +Fuatino was nothing else than an ancient crater, thrust upward from the +sea-bottom by some primordial cataclysm. The western portion, broken +and crumbled to sea level, was the entrance to the crater itself, which +constituted the harbour. Thus, Fuatino was like a rugged horseshoe, the +heel pointing to the west. And into the opening at the heel the Rattler +steered. Captain Glass, binoculars in hand and peering at the chart made +by himself, which was spread on top the cabin, straightened up with an +expression on his face that was half alarm, half resignation. + +"It's coming," he said. "Fever. It wasn't due till to-morrow. It always +hits me hard, Mr. Grief. In five minutes I'll be off my head. You'll +have to con the schooner in. Boy! Get my bunk ready! Plenty of blankets! +Fill that hot-water bottle! It's so calm, Mr. Grief, that I think you +can pass the big patch without warping. Take the leading wind and shoot +her. She's the only craft in the South Pacific that can do it, and I +know you know the trick. You can scrape the Big Rock by just watching +out for the main boom." + +He had talked rapidly, almost like a drunken man, as his reeling brain +battled with the rising shock of the malarial stroke. When he stumbled +toward the companionway, his face was purpling and mottling as if +attacked by some monstrous inflammation or decay. His eyes were setting +in a glassy bulge, his hands shaking, his teeth clicking in the spasms +of chill. + +"Two hours to get the sweat," he chattered with a ghastly grin. "And a +couple more and I'll be all right. I know the damned thing to the last +minute it runs its course. Y-y-you t-t-take ch-ch-ch-ch----" + +His voice faded away in a weak stutter as he collapsed down into the +cabin and his employer took charge. The _Rattler_ was just entering the +passage. The heels of the horseshoe island were two huge mountains of +rock a thousand feet high, each almost broken off from the mainland and +connected with it by a low and narrow peninsula. Between the heels was +a half-mile stretch, all but blocked by a reef of coral extending across +from the south heel. The passage, which Captain Glass had called a +crevice, twisted into this reef, curved directly to the north heel, and +ran along the base of the perpendicular rock. At this point, with the +main-boom almost grazing the rock on the port side, Grief, peering down +on the starboard side, could see bottom less than two fathoms beneath +and shoaling steeply. With a whaleboat towing for steerage and as a +precaution against back-draughts from the cliff, and taking advantage of +a fan of breeze, he shook the Rattler full into it and glided by the big +coral patch without warping. As it was, he just scraped, but so softly +as not to start the copper. + +The harbour of Fuatino opened before him. It was a circular sheet of +water, five miles in diameter, rimmed with white coral beaches, from +which the verdure-clad slopes rose swiftly to the frowning crater walls. +The crests of the walls were saw-toothed, volcanic peaks, capped and +halo'd with captive trade-wind clouds. Every nook and crevice of the +disintegrating lava gave foothold to creeping, climbing vines and +trees--a green foam of vegetation. Thin streams of water, that were +mere films of mist, swayed and undulated downward in sheer descents +of hundreds of feet. And to complete the magic of the place, the warm, +moist air was heavy with the perfume of the yellow-blossomed _cassi_. + +Fanning along against light, vagrant airs, the _Rattler_ worked in. +Calling the whale-boat on board, Grief searched out the shore with his +binoculars. There was no life. In the hot blaze of tropic sun the place +slept. There was no sign of welcome. Up the beach, on the north shore, +where the fringe of cocoanut palms concealed the village, he could see +the black bows of the canoes in the canoe-houses. On the beach, on even +keel, rested the strange schooner. Nothing moved on board of her or +around her. Not until the beach lay fifty yards away did Grief let go +the anchor in forty fathoms. Out in the middle, long years before, he +had sounded three hundred fathoms without reaching bottom, which was to +be expected of a healthy crater-pit like Fuatino. As the chain roared +and surged through the hawse-pipe he noticed a number of native women, +lusciously large as only those of Polynesia are, in flowing _ahu's_, +flower-crowned, stream out on the deck of the schooner on the beach. +Also, and what they did not see, he saw from the galley the squat figure +of a man steal for'ard, drop to the sand, and dive into the green screen +of bush. + +While the sails were furled and gasketed, awnings stretched, and sheets +and tackles coiled harbour fashion, David Grief paced the deck and +looked vainly for a flutter of life elsewhere than on the strange +schooner. Once, beyond any doubt, he heard the distant crack of a rifle +in the direction of the Big Rock. There were no further shots, and he +thought of it as some hunter shooting a wild goat. + +At the end of another hour Captain Glass, under a mountain of blankets, +had ceased shivering and was in the inferno of a profound sweat. + +"I'll be all right in half an hour," he said weakly. + +"Very well," Grief answered. "The place is dead, and I'm going ashore to +see Mataara and find out the situation." + +"It's a tough bunch; keep your eyes open," the captain warned him. "If +you're not back in an hour, send word off." + +Grief took the steering-sweep, and four of his Raiatea men bent to the +oars. As they landed on the beach he looked curiously at the women under +the schooner's awning. He waved his hand tentatively, and they, after +giggling, waved back. + +"_Talofa!_" he called. + +They understood the greeting, but replied, "_Iorana_," and he knew they +came from the Society Group. + +"Huahine," one of his sailors unhesitatingly named their island. Grief +asked them whence they came, and with giggles and laughter they replied, +"Huahine." + +"It looks like old Dupuy's schooner," Grief said, in Tahitian, speaking +in a low voice. "Don't look too hard. What do you think, eh? Isn't it +the _Valetta?_" + +As the men climbed out and lifted the whale-boat slightly up the beach +they stole careless glances at the vessel. + +"It is the _Valetta_," Taute said. "She carried her topmast away seven +years ago. At Papeete they rigged a new one. It was ten feet shorter. +That is the one." + +"Go over and talk with the women, you boys. You can almost see Huahine +from Raiatea, and you'll be sure to know some of them. Find out all you +can. And if any of the white men show up, don't start a row." + +An army of hermit crabs scuttled and rustled away before him as he +advanced up the beach, but under the palms no pigs rooted and grunted. +The cocoanuts lay where they had fallen, and at the copra-sheds there +were no signs of curing. Industry and tidiness had vanished. Grass +house after grass house he found deserted. Once he came upon an old +man, blind, toothless, prodigiously wrinkled, who sat in the shade and +babbled with fear when he spoke to him. It was as if the place had been +struck with the plague, was Grief's thought, as he finally approached +the Big House. All was desolation and disarray. There were no +flower-crowned men and maidens, no brown babies rolling in the shade of +the avocado trees. In the doorway, crouched and rocking back and forth, +sat Mataara, the old queen. She wept afresh at sight of him, divided +between the tale of her woe and regret that no follower was left to +dispense to him her hospitality. + +"And so they have taken Naumoo," she finished. "Motauri is dead. My +people have fled and are starving with the goats. And there is no one to +open for you even a drinking cocoa-nut. O Brother, your white brothers +be devils." + +"They are no brothers of mine, Mataara," Grief consoled. "They are +robbers and pigs, and I shall clean the island of them----" + +He broke off to whirl half around, his hand flashing to his waist and +back again, the big Colt's levelled at the figure of a man, bent double, +that rushed at him from out of the trees. He did not pull the trigger, +nor did the man pause till he had flung himself headlong at Grief's +feet and begun to pour forth a stream of uncouth and awful noises. He +recognized the creature as the one he had seen steal from the _Valetta_ +and dive into the bush; but not until he raised him up and watched +the contortions of the hare-lipped mouth could he understand what he +uttered. + +"Save me, master, save me!" the man yammered, in English, though he was +unmistakably a South Sea native. "I know you! Save me!" + +And thereat he broke into a wild outpour of incoherence that did +not cease until Grief seized him by the shoulders and shook him into +silence. + +"I know you," Grief said. "You were cook in the French Hotel at Papeete +two years ago. Everybody called you 'Hare-Lip.'" + +The man nodded violently. + +"I am now cook of the _Valetta_," he spat and spluttered, his mouth +writhing in a fearful struggle with its defect. "I know you. I saw you +at the hotel. I saw you at Lavina's. I saw you on the _Kittiwake_. I saw +you at the _Mariposa_ wharf. You are Captain Grief, and you will save +me. Those men are devils. They killed Captain Dupuy. Me they made kill +half the crew. Two they shot from the cross-trees. The rest they shot +in the water. I knew them all. They stole the girls from Huahine. They +added to their strength with jail-men from Noumea. They robbed the +traders in the New Hebrides. They killed the trader at Vanikori, and +stole two women there. They----" + +But Grief no longer heard. Through the trees, from the direction of +the harbour, came a rattle of rifles, and he started on the run for the +beach. Pirates from Tahiti and convicts from New Caledonia! A pretty +bunch of desperadoes that even now was attacking his schooner. Hare-Lip +followed, still spluttering and spitting his tale of the white devils' +doings. + +The rifle-firing ceased as abruptly as it had begun, but Grief ran +on, perplexed by ominous conjectures, until, in a turn of the path, he +encountered Mauriri running toward him from the beach. + +"Big Brother," the Goat Man panted, "I was too late. They have taken +your schooner. Come! For now they will seek for you." + +He started back up the path away from the beach. + +"Where is Brown?" Grief demanded. + +"On the Big Rock. I will tell you afterward. Come now!" + +"But my men in the whaleboat?" + +Mauriri was in an agony of apprehension. + +"They are with the women on the strange schooner. They will not be +killed. I tell you true. The devils want sailors. But you they will +kill. Listen!" From the water, in a cracked tenor voice, came a French +hunting song. "They are landing on the beach. They have taken your +schooner--that I saw. Come!" + + + + +III + +Careless of his own life and skin, nevertheless David Grief was +possessed of no false hardihood. He knew when to fight and when to run, +and that this was the time for running he had no doubt. Up the path, +past the old men sitting in the shade, past Mataara crouched in the +doorway of the Big House, he followed at the heels of Mauriri. At his +own heels, doglike, plodded Hare-Lip. From behind came the cries of the +hunters, but the pace Mauriri led them was heartbreaking. The broad path +narrowed, swung to the right, and pitched upward. The last grass house +was left, and through high thickets of _cassi_ and swarms of great +golden wasps the way rose steeply until it became a goat-track. Pointing +upward to a bare shoulder of volcanic rock, Mauriri indicated the trail +across its face. + +"Past that we are safe, Big Brother," he said. "The white devils never +dare it, for there are rocks we roll down on their heads, and there +is no other path. Always do they stop here and shoot when we cross the +rock. Come!" + +A quarter of an hour later they paused where the trail went naked on the +face of the rock. + +"Wait, and when you come, come quickly," Mauriri cautioned. + +He sprang into the blaze of sunlight, and from below several rifles +pumped rapidly. Bullets smacked about him, and puffs of stone-dust +flew out, but he won safely across. Grief followed, and so near did +one bullet come that the dust of its impact stung his cheek. Nor was +Hare-Lip struck, though he essayed the passage more slowly. + +For the rest of the day, on the greater heights, they lay in a lava glen +where terraced taro and _papaia_ grew. And here Grief made his plans and +learned the fulness of the situation. + +"It was ill luck," Mauriri said. "Of all nights this one night was +selected by the white devils to go fishing. It was dark as we came +through the passage. They were in boats and canoes. Always do they have +their rifles with them. One Raiatea man they shot. Brown was very brave. +We tried to get by to the top of the bay, but they headed us off, and we +were driven in between the Big Rock and the village. We saved the guns +and all the ammunition, but they got the boat. Thus they learned of your +coming. Brown is now on this side of the Big Rock with the guns and the +ammunition." + +"But why didn't he go over the top of the Big Rock and give me warning +as I came in from the sea?" Grief criticised. + +"They knew not the way. Only the goats and I know the way. And this I +forgot, for I crept through the bush to gain the water and swim to you. +But the devils were in the bush shooting at Brown and the Raiatea men; +and me they hunted till daylight, and through the morning they hunted +me there in the low-lying land. Then you came in your schooner, and they +watched till you went ashore, and I got away through the bush, but you +were already ashore." + +"You fired that shot?" + +"Yes; to warn you. But they were wise and would not shoot back, and it +was my last cartridge." + +"Now you, Hare-Lip?" Grief said to the _Valetta's_ cook. + +His tale was long and painfully detailed. For a year he had been sailing +out of Tahiti and through the Paumotus on the _Valetta_. Old Dupuy was +owner and captain. On his last cruise he had shipped two strangers in +Tahiti as mate and supercargo. Also, another stranger he carried to be +his agent on Fanriki. Raoul Van Asveld and Carl Lepsius were the names +of the mate and supercargo. + +"They are brothers, I know, for I have heard them talk in the dark, on +deck, when they thought no one listened," Hare-Lip explained. + +The _Valetta_ cruised through the Low Islands, picking up shell and +pearls at Dupuy's stations. Frans Amundson, the third stranger, relieved +Pierre Gollard at Fanriki. Pierre Gollard came on board to go back to +Tahiti. The natives of Fanriki said he had a quart of pearls to turn +over to Dupuy. The first night out from Fanriki there was shooting +in the cabin. Then the bodies of Dupuy and Pierre Gollard were thrown +overboard. The Tahitian sailors fled to the forecastle. For two days, +with nothing to eat and the _Valetta_ hove to, they remained below. Then +Raoul Van Asveld put poison in the meal he made Hare-Lip cook and carry +for'ard. Half the sailors died. + +"He had a rifle pointed at me, master; what could I do?" Hare-Lip +whimpered. "Of the rest, two went up the rigging and were shot. Fanriki +was ten miles away. The others went overboard to swim. They were shot +as they swam. I, only, lived, and the two devils; for me they wanted to +cook for them. That day, with the breeze, they went back to Fanrika and +took on Frans Amundson, for he was one of them." + +Then followed Hare-Lip's nightmare experiences as the schooner wandered +on the long reaches to the westward. He was the one living witness and +knew they would have killed him had he not been the cook. At Noumea five +convicts had joined them. Hare-Lip was never permitted ashore at any of +the islands, and Grief was the first outsider to whom he had spoken. + +"And now they will kill me," Hare-Lip spluttered, "for they will know +I have told you. Yet am I not all a coward, and I will stay with you, +master, and die with you." + +The Goat Man shook his head and stood up. + +"Lie here and rest," he said to Grief. "It will be a long swim to-night. +As for this cook-man, I will take him now to the higher places where my +brothers live with the goats." + + + + +IV + +"It is well that you swim as a man should, Big Brother," Mauriri +whispered. + +From the lava glen they had descended to the head of the bay and taken +to the water. They swam softly, without splash, Mauriri in the lead. The +black walls of the crater rose about them till it seemed they swam +on the bottom of a great bowl. Above was the sky of faintly luminous +star-dust. Ahead they could see the light which marked the Rattler, and +from her deck, softened by distance, came a gospel hymn played on the +phonograph intended for Pilsach. + +The two swimmers bore to the left, away from the captured schooner. +Laughter and song followed on board after the hymn, then the phonograph +started again. Grief grinned to himself at the appositeness of it as +"Lead, Kindly Light," floated out over the dark water. + +"We must take the passage and land on the Big Rock," Mauriri whispered. +"The devils are holding the low land. Listen!" + +Half a dozen rifle shots, at irregular intervals, attested that Brown +still held the Rock and that the pirates had invested the narrow +peninsula. + +At the end of another hour they swam under the frowning loom of the Big +Rock. Mauriri, feeling his way, led the landing in a crevice, up which +for a hundred feet they climbed to a narrow ledge. + +"Stay here," said Mauriri. "I go to Brown. In the morning I shall +return." + +"I will go with you, Brother," Grief said. + +Mauriri laughed in the darkness. + +"Even you, Big Brother, cannot do this thing. I am the Goat Man, and +I only, of all Fuatino, can go over the Big Rock in the night. +Furthermore, it will be the first time that even I have done it. Put out +your hand. You feel it? That is where Pilsach's dynamite is kept. Lie +close beside the wall and you may sleep without falling. I go now." + +And high above the sounding surf, on a narrow shelf beside a ton of +dynamite, David Grief planned his campaign, then rested his cheek on his +arm and slept. + +In the morning, when Mauriri led him over the summit of the Big Rock, +David Grief understood why he could not have done it in the night. +Despite the accustomed nerve of a sailor for height and precarious +clinging, he marvelled that he was able to do it in the broad light of +day. There were places, always under minute direction of Mauriri, that +he leaned forward, falling, across hundred-foot-deep crevices, until his +outstretched hands struck a grip on the opposing wall and his legs could +then be drawn across after. Once, there was a ten-foot leap, above half +a thousand feet of yawning emptiness and down a fathom's length to a +meagre foothold. And he, despite his cool head, lost it another time on +a shelf, a scant twelve inches wide, where all hand-holds seemed to fail +him. And Mauriri, seeing him sway, swung his own body far out and over +the gulf and passed him, at the same time striking him sharply on the +back to brace his reeling brain. Then it was, and forever after, that he +fully knew why Mauriri had been named the Goat Man. + + + + +V + +The defence of the Big Rock had its good points and its defects. +Impregnable to assault, two men could hold it against ten thousand. +Also, it guarded the passage to open sea. The two schooners, Raoul Van +Asveld, and his cutthroat following were bottled up. Grief, with the ton +of dynamite, which he had removed higher up the rock, was master. This +he demonstrated, one morning, when the schooners attempted to put to +sea. The _Valetta_ led, the whaleboat towing her manned by captured +Fuatino men. Grief and the Goat Man peered straight down from a safe +rock-shelter, three hundred feet above. Their rifles were beside them, +also a glowing fire-stick and a big bundle of dynamite sticks with fuses +and decanators attached. As the whaleboat came beneath, Mauriri shook +his head. + +"They are our brothers. We cannot shoot." + +For'ard, on the _Valetta_, were several of Grief's own Raiatea sailors. +Aft stood another at the wheel. The pirates were below, or on the other +schooner, with the exception of one who stood, rifle in hand, amidships. +For protection he held Naumoo, the Queen's daughter, close to him. + +"That is the chief devil," Mauriri whispered, "and his eyes are blue +like yours. He is a terrible man. See! He holds Naumoo that we may not +shoot him." + +A light air and a slight tide were making into the passage, and the +schooner's progress was slow. + +"Do you speak English?" Grief called down. + +The man startled, half lifted his rifle to the perpendicular, and looked +up. There was something quick and catlike in his movements, and in his +burned blond face a fighting eagerness. It was the face of a killer. + +"Yes," he answered. "What do you want?" + +"Turn back, or I'll blow your schooner up," Grief warned. He blew on the +fire-stick and whispered, "Tell Naumoo to break away from him and run +aft." + +From the _Rattler_, close astern, rifles cracked, and bullets spatted +against the rock. Van Asveld laughed defiantly, and Mauriri called +down in the native tongue to the woman. When directly beneath, Grief, +watching, saw her jerk away from the man. On the instant Grief touched +the fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of the short fuse, +sprang into view on the face of the rock, and dropped the dynamite. Van +Asveld had managed to catch the girl and was struggling with her. The +Goat Man held a rifle on him and waited a chance. The dynamite struck +the deck in a compact package, bounded, and rolled into the port +scupper. Van Asveld saw it and hesitated, then he and the girl ran aft +for their lives. The Goat Man fired, but splintered the corner of the +galley. The spattering of bullets from the _Rattler_ increased, and the +two on the rock crouched low for shelter and waited. Mauriri tried to +see what was happening below, but Grief held him back. + +"The fuse was too long," he said. "I'll know better next time." + +It was half a minute before the explosion came. What happened afterward, +for some little time, they could not tell, for the Rattler's marksmen +had got the range and were maintaining a steady fire. Once, fanned by a +couple of bullets, Grief risked a peep. The _Valetta_, her port deck +and rail torn away, was listing and sinking as she drifted back into the +harbour. Climbing on board the _Rattler_ were the men and the Huahine +women who had been hidden in the _Valetta's_ cabin and who had swum for +it under the protecting fire. The Fuatino men who had been towing in the +whaleboat had cast off the line, dashed back through the passage, and +were rowing wildly for the south shore. + +From the shore of the peninsula the discharges of four rifles announced +that Brown and his men had worked through the jungle to the beach and +were taking a hand. The bullets ceased coming, and Grief and Mauriri +joined in with their rifles. But they could do no damage, for the men of +the _Rattler_ were firing from the shelter of the deck-houses, while the +wind and tide carried the schooner farther in. + +There was no sign of the _Valetta_, which had sunk in the deep water of +the crater. + +Two things Raoul Van Asveld did that showed his keenness and coolness +and that elicited Grief's admiration. Under the _Rattler's_ rifle fire +Raoul compelled the fleeing Fuatino men to come in and surrender. And at +the same time, dispatching half his cutthroats in the _Rattler's_ boat, +he threw them ashore and across the peninsula, preventing Brown from +getting away to the main part of the island. And for the rest of the +morning the intermittent shooting told to Grief how Brown was being +driven in to the other side of the Big Rock. The situation was +unchanged, with the exception of the loss of the _Valetta_. + + + + +VI + +The defects of the position on the Big Rock were vital. There was +neither food nor water. For several nights, accompanied by one of the +Raiatea men, Mauriri swam to the head of the bay for supplies. Then came +the night when lights flared on the water and shots were fired. After +that the water-side of the Big Rock was invested as well. + +"It's a funny situation," Brown remarked, who was getting all the +adventure he had been led to believe resided in the South Seas. "We've +got hold and can't let go, and Raoul has hold and can't let go. He can't +get away, and we're liable to starve to death holding him." + +"If the rain came, the rock-basins would fill," said Mauriri. It was +their first twenty-four hours without water. "Big Brother, to-night you +and I will get water. It is the work of strong men." + +That night, with cocoanut calabashes, each of quart capacity and tightly +stoppered, he led Grief down to the water from the peninsula side of the +Big Rock. They swam out not more than a hundred feet. Beyond, they could +hear the occasional click of an oar or the knock of a paddle against +a canoe, and sometimes they saw the flare of matches as the men in the +guarding boats lighted cigarettes or pipes. + +"Wait here," whispered Mauriri, "and hold the calabashes." + +Turning over, he swam down. Grief, face downward, watched his +phosphorescent track glimmer, and dim, and vanish. A long minute +afterward Mauriri broke surface noiselessly at Grief's side. + +"Here! Drink!" + +The calabash was full, and Grief drank sweet fresh water which had come +up from the depths of the salt. + +"It flows out from the land," said Mauriri. + +"On the bottom?" + +"No. The bottom is as far below as the mountains are above. Fifty feet +down it flows. Swim down until you feel its coolness." + +Several times filling and emptying his lungs in diver fashion, Grief +turned over and went down through the water. Salt it was to his lips, +and warm to his flesh; but at last, deep down, it perceptibly chilled +and tasted brackish. Then, suddenly, his body entered the cold, +subterranean stream. He removed the small stopper from the calabash, +and, as the sweet water gurgled into it, he saw the phosphorescent +glimmer of a big fish, like a sea ghost, drift sluggishly by. + +Thereafter, holding the growing weight of the calabashes, he remained on +the surface, while Mauriri took them down, one by one, and filled them. + +"There are sharks," Grief said, as they swam back to shore. + +"Pooh!" was the answer. "They are fish sharks. We of Fuatino are +brothers to the fish sharks." + +"But the tiger sharks? I have seen them here." + +"When they come, Big Brother, we will have no more water to +drink--unless it rains." + + + + +VII + +A week later Mauriri and a Raiatea man swam back with empty calabashes. +The tiger sharks had arrived in the harbour. The next day they thirsted +on the Big Rock. + +"We must take our chance," said Grief. "Tonight I shall go after water +with Mautau. Tomorrow night, Brother, you will go with Tehaa." + +Three quarts only did Grief get, when the tiger sharks appeared and +drove them in. There were six of them on the Rock, and a pint a day, in +the sweltering heat of the mid-tropics, is not sufficient moisture for a +man's body. The next night Mauriri and Tehaa returned with no water. And +the day following Brown learned the full connotation of thirst, when the +lips crack to bleeding, the mouth is coated with granular slime, and the +swollen tongue finds the mouth too small for residence. + +Grief swam out in the darkness with Mautau. Turn by turn, they went down +through the salt, to the cool sweet stream, drinking their fill while +the calabashes were filling. It was Mau-tau's turn to descend with the +last calabash, and Grief, peering down from the surface, saw the glimmer +of sea-ghosts and all the phosphorescent display of the struggle. He +swam back alone, but without relinquishing the precious burden of full +calabashes. + +Of food they had little. Nothing grew on the Rock, and its sides, +covered with shellfish at sea level where the surf thundered in, were +too precipitous for access. Here and there, where crevices permitted, a +few rank shellfish and sea urchins were gleaned. Sometimes frigate birds +and other sea birds were snared. Once, with a piece of frigate bird, +they succeeded in hooking a shark. After that, with jealously guarded +shark-meat for bait, they managed on occasion to catch more sharks. + +But water remained their direst need. Mauriri prayed to the Goat +God for rain. Taute prayed to the Missionary God, and his two fellow +islanders, backsliding, invoked the deities of their old heathen days. +Grief grinned and considered. But Brown, wild-eyed, with protruding +blackened tongue, cursed. Especially he cursed the phonograph that +in the cool twilights ground out gospel hymns from the deck of the +_Rattler_. One hymn in particular, "Beyond the Smiling and the Weeping," +drove him to madness. It seemed a favourite on board the schooner, for +it was played most of all. Brown, hungry and thirsty, half out of +his head from weakness and suffering, could lie among the rocks with +equanimity and listen to the tinkling of ukuleles and guitars, and +the hulas and himines of the Huahine women. But when the voices of the +Trinity Choir floated over the water he was beside himself. One evening +the cracked tenor took up the song with the machine: + + "Beyond the smiling and the weeping, + I shall be soon. + Beyond the waking and the sleeping, + Beyond the sowing and the reaping, + I shall be soon, + I shall be soon." + +Then it was that Brown rose up. Again and again, blindly, he emptied his +rifle at the schooner. Laughter floated up from the men and women, and +from the peninsula came a splattering of return bullets; but the cracked +tenor sang on, and Brown continued to fire, until the hymn was played +out. + +It was that night that Grief and Mauriri came back with but one calabash +of water. A patch of skin six inches long was missing from Grief's +shoulder in token of the scrape of the sandpaper hide of a shark whose +dash he had eluded. + + + + + +VIII + +In the early morning of another day, before the sun-blaze had gained its +full strength, came an offer of a parley from Raoul Van Asveld. + +Brown brought the word in from the outpost among the rocks a hundred +yards away. Grief was squatted over a small fire, broiling a strip of +shark-flesh. The last twenty-four hours had been lucky. Seaweed and sea +urchins had been gathered. Tehaa had caught a shark, and Mauriri had +captured a fair-sized octopus at the base of the crevice where the +dynamite was stored. Then, too, in the darkness they had made two +successful swims for water before the tiger sharks had nosed them out. + +"Said he'd like to come in and talk with you," Brown said. "But I know +what the brute is after. Wants to see how near starved to death we are." + +"Bring him in," Grief said. + +"And then we will kill him," the Goat Man cried joyously. + +Grief shook his head. + +"But he is a killer of men, Big Brother, a beast and a devil," the Goat +Man protested. + +"He must not be killed, Brother. It is our way not to break our word." + +"It is a foolish way." + +"Still it is our way," Grief answered gravely, turning the strip of +shark-meat over on the coals and noting the hungry sniff and look of +Tehaa. "Don't do that, Tehaa, when the Big Devil comes. Look as if you +and hunger were strangers. Here, cook those sea urchins, you, and you, +Big Brother, cook the squid. We will have the Big Devil to feast with +us. Spare nothing. Cook all." + +And, still broiling meat, Grief arose as Raoul Van Asveld, followed by a +large Irish terrier, strode into camp. Raoul did not make the mistake of +holding out his hand. + +"Hello!" he said. "I've heard of you." + +"I wish I'd never heard of you," Grief answered. + +"Same here," was the response. "At first, before I knew who it was, +I thought I had to deal with an ordinary trading captain. That's why +you've got me bottled up." + +"And I am ashamed to say that I underrated you," Grief smiled. "I took +you for a thieving beachcomber, and not for a really intelligent pirate +and murderer. Hence, the loss of my schooner. Honours are even, I fancy, +on that score." + +Raoul flushed angrily under his sunburn, but he contained himself. His +eyes roved over the supply of food and the full water-calabashes, though +he concealed the incredulous surprise he felt. His was a tall, slender, +well-knit figure, and Grief, studying him, estimated his character +from his face. The eyes were keen and strong, but a bit too close +together--not pinched, however, but just a trifle near to balance the +broad forehead, the strong chin and jaw, and the cheekbones wide apart. +Strength! His face was filled with it, and yet Grief sensed in it the +intangible something the man lacked. + +"We are both strong men," Raoul said, with a bow. "We might have been +fighting for empires a hundred years ago." + +It was Grief's turn to bow. + +"As it is, we are squalidly scrapping over the enforcement of the +colonial laws of those empires whose destinies we might possibly have +determined a hundred years ago." + +"It all comes to dust," Raoul remarked sen-tentiously, sitting down. "Go +ahead with your meal. Don't let me interrupt." + +"Won't you join us?" was Grief's invitation. + +The other looked at him with sharp steadiness, then accepted. + +"I'm sticky with sweat," he said. "Can I wash?" + +Grief nodded and ordered Mauriri to bring a calabash. Raoul looked into +the Goat Man's eyes, but saw nothing save languid uninterest as the +precious quart of water was wasted on the ground. + +"The dog is thirsty," Raoul said. + +Grief nodded, and another calabash was presented to the animal. + +Again Raoul searched the eyes of the natives and learned nothing. + +"Sorry we have no coffee," Grief apologized. "You'll have to drink plain +water. A calabash, Tehaa. Try some of this shark. There is squid to +follow, and sea urchins and a seaweed salad. I'm sorry we haven't any +frigate bird. The boys were lazy yesterday, and did not try to catch +any." + +With an appetite that would not have stopped at wire nails dipped in +lard, Grief ate perfunctorily, and tossed the scraps to the dog. + +"I'm afraid I haven't got down to the primitive diet yet," he sighed, +as he sat back. "The tinned goods on the _Rattler_, now I could make a +hearty meal off of them, but this muck----" He took a half-pound strip +of broiled shark and flung it to the dog. "I suppose I'll come to it if +you don't surrender pretty soon." + +Raoul laughed unpleasantly. + +"I came to offer terms," he said pointedly. + +Grief shook his head. + +"There aren't any terms. I've got you where the hair is short, and I'm +not going to let go." + +"You think you can hold me in this hole!" Raoul cried. + +"You'll never leave it alive, except in double irons." Grief surveyed +his guest with an air of consideration. "I've handled your kind before. +We've pretty well cleaned it out of the South Seas. But you are a--how +shall I say?--a sort of an anachronism. You're a throwback, and we've +got to get rid of you. Personally, I would advise you to go back to the +schooner and blow your brains out. It is the only way to escape what +you've got coming to you." + +The parley, so far as Raoul was concerned, proved fruitless, and he went +back into his own lines convinced that the men on the Big Rock could +hold out for years, though he would have been swiftly unconvinced could +he have observed Tehaa and the Raiateans, the moment his back was +turned and he was out of sight, crawling over the rocks and sucking and +crunching the scraps his dog had left uneaten. + + + + +IX + +"We hunger now, Brother," Grief said, "but it is better than to hunger +for many days to come. The Big Devil, after feasting and drinking good +water with us in plenty, will not stay long in Fuatino. Even to-morrow +may he try to leave. To-night you and I sleep over the top of the Rock, +and Tehaa, who shoots well, will sleep with us if he can dare the Rock." + +Tehaa, alone among the Raiateans, was cragsman enough to venture the +perilous way, and dawn found him in a rock-barricaded nook, a hundred +yards to the right of Grief and Mauriri. + +The first warning was the firing of rifles from the peninsula, where +Brown and his two Raiateans signalled the retreat and followed the +besiegers through the jungle to the beach. From the eyrie on the face +of the rock Grief could see nothing for another hour, when the _Rattler_ +appeared, making for the passage. As before, the captive Fuatino men +towed in the whaleboat. Mauriri, under direction of Grief, called down +instructions to them as they passed slowly beneath. By Grief's side +lay several bundles of dynamite sticks, well-lashed together and with +extremely short fuses. + +The deck of the _Rattler_ was populous. For'ard, rifle in hand, among +the Raiatean sailors, stood a desperado whom Mauriri announced was +Raoul's brother. Aft, by the helmsman, stood another. Attached to him, +tied waist to waist, with slack, was Mataara, the old Queen. On the +other side of the helmsman, his arm in a sling, was Captain Glass. +Amidships, as before, was Raoul, and with him, lashed waist to waist, +was Naumoo. + +"Good morning, Mister David Grief," Raoul called up. + +"And yet I warned you that only in double irons would you leave the +island," Grief murmured down with a sad inflection. + +"You can't kill all your people I have on board," was the answer. + +The schooner, moving slowly, jerk by jerk, as the men pulled in the +whaleboat, was almost directly beneath. The rowers, without ceasing, +slacked on their oars, and were immediately threatened with the rifle of +the man who stood for'ard. + +"Throw, Big Brother!" Naumoo called up in the Fuatino tongue. "I am +filled with sorrow and am willed to die. His knife is ready with which +to cut the rope, but I shall hold him tight. Be not afraid, Big Brother. +Throw, and throw straight, and good-bye." + +Grief hesitated, then lowered the fire-stick which he had been blowing +bright. + +"Throw!" the Goat Man urged. + +Still Grief hesitated. + +"If they get to sea, Big Brother, Naumoo dies just the same. And there +are all the others. What is her life against the many?" + +"If you drop any dynamite, or fire a single shot, we'll kill all on +board," Raoul cried up to them. "I've got you, David Grief. You can't +kill these people, and I can. Shut up, you!" + +This last was addressed to Naumoo, who was calling up in her native +tongue and whom Raoul seized by the neck with one hand to choke +to silence. In turn, she locked both arms about him and looked up +beseechingly to Grief. + +"Throw it, Mr. Grief, and be damned to them," Captain Glass rumbled +in his deep voice. "They're bloody murderers, and the cabin's full of +them." + +The desperado who was fastened to the old Queen swung half about to +menace Captain Glass with his rifle, when Tehaa, from his position +farther along the Rock, pulled trigger on him. The rifle dropped from +the man's hand, and on his face was an expression of intense surprise as +his legs crumpled under him and he sank down on deck, dragging the Queen +with him. + +"Port! Hard a port!" Grief cried. + +Captain Glass and the Kanaka whirled the wheel over, and the bow of the +_Rattler_ headed in for the Rock. Amidships Raoul still struggled with +Naumoo. His brother ran from for'ard to his aid, being missed by the +fusillade of quick shots from Tehaa and the Goat Man. As Raoul's brother +placed the muzzle of his rifle to Naumoo's side Grief touched the +fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of the fuse. Even as with +both hands he tossed the big bundle of dynamite, the rifle went off, +and Naumoo's fall to the deck was simultaneous with the fall of the +dynamite. This time the fuse was short enough. The explosion occurred +at the instant the deck was reached, and that portion of the _Rattler_, +along with Raoul, his brother, and Naumoo, forever disappeared. + +The schooner's side was shattered, and she began immediately to settle. +For'ard, every Raiatean sailor dived overboard. Captain Glass met the +first man springing up the com-panionway from the cabin, with a kick +full in the face, but was overborne and trampled on by the rush. +Following the desperadoes came the Huahine women, and as they went +overboard, the _Rattler_ sank on an even keel close to the base of the +Rock. Her cross-trees still stuck out when she reached bottom. + +Looking down, Grief could see all that occurred beneath the surface. He +saw Mataara, a fathom deep, unfasten herself from the dead pirate and +swim upward. As her head emerged she saw Captain Glass, who could not +swim, sinking several yards away. The Queen, old woman that she was, +but an islander, turned over, swam down to him, and held him up as she +struck out for the unsubmerged cross-trees. + +Five heads, blond and brown, were mingled with the dark heads of +Polynesia that dotted the surface. Grief, rifle in hand, watched for a +chance to shoot. The Goat Man, after a minute, was successful, and they +saw the body of one man sink sluggishly. But to the Raiatean sailors, +big and brawny, half fish, was the vengeance given. Swimming swiftly, +they singled out the blond heads and the brown. Those from above watched +the four surviving desperadoes, clutched and locked, dragged far down +beneath and drowned like curs. + +In ten minutes everything was over. The Huahine women, laughing and +giggling, were holding on to the sides of the whaleboat which had done +the towing. The Raiatean sailors, waiting for orders, were about the +cross-tree to which Captain Glass and Mataara clung. + +"The poor old _Rattler_," Captain Glass lamented. + +"Nothing of the sort," Grief answered. "In a week we'll have her raised, +new timbers amidships, and we'll be on our way." And to the Queen, "How +is it with you, Sister?" + +"Naumoo is gone, and Motauri, Brother, but Fuatino is ours again. The +day is young. Word shall be sent to all my people in the high places +with the goats. And to-night, once again, and as never before, we shall +feast and rejoice in the Big House." + +"She's been needing new timbers abaft the beam there for years," quoth +Captain Glass. "But the chronometers will be out of commission for the +rest of the cruise." + + + + +Chapter Four--THE JOKERS OF NEW GIBBON + + + + +I + +"I'm almost afraid to take you in to New Gibbon," David Grief said. "It +wasn't until you and the British gave me a free hand and let the place +alone that any results were accomplished." + +Wallenstein, the German Resident Commissioner from Bougainville, poured +himself a long Scotch and soda and smiled. + +"We take off our hats to you, Mr. Grief," he said in perfectly good +English. "What you have done on the devil island is a miracle. And we +shall continue not to interfere. It _is_ a devil island, and old Koho is +the big chief devil of them all. We never could bring him to terms. He +is a liar, and he is no fool. He is a black Napoleon, a head-hunting, +man-eating Talleyrand. I remember six years ago, when I landed there in +the British cruiser. The niggers cleared out for the bush, of course, +but we found several who couldn't get away. One was his latest wife. She +had been hung up by one arm in the sun for two days and nights. We +cut her down, but she died just the same. And staked out in the fresh +running water, up to their necks, were three more women. All their bones +were broken and their joints crushed. The process is supposed to make +them tender for the eating. They were still alive. Their vitality was +remarkable. One woman, the oldest, lingered nearly ten days. Well, that +was a sample of Koho's diet. No wonder he's a wild beast. How you ever +pacified him is our everlasting puzzlement." + +"I wouldn't call him exactly pacified," Grief answered. "Though he comes +in once in a while and eats out of the hand." + +"That's more than we accomplished with our cruisers. Neither the German +nor the English ever laid eyes on him. You were the first." + +"No; McTavish was the first," Grief disclaimed. + +"Ah, yes, I remember him--the little, dried-up Scotchman." Wallenstein +sipped his whiskey. "He's called the Trouble-mender, isn't he?" + +Grief nodded. + +"And they say the screw you pay him is bigger than mine or the British +Resident's?" + +"I'm afraid it is," Grief admitted. "You see, and no offence, he's +really worth it. He spends his time wherever the trouble is. He is a +wizard. He's the one who got me my lodgment on New Gibbon. He's down on +Malaita now, starting a plantation for me." + +"The first?" + +"There's not even a trading station on all Malaita. The recruiters still +use covering boats and carry the old barbed wire above their rails. +There's the plantation now. We'll be in in half an hour." He handed the +binoculars to his guest. "Those are the boat-sheds to the left of the +bungalow. Beyond are the barracks. And to the right are the copra-sheds. +We dry quite a bit already. Old Koho's getting civilized enough to make +his people bring in the nuts. There's the mouth of the stream where you +found the three women softening." + +The _Wonder_, wing-and-wing, was headed directly in for the anchorage. +She rose and fell lazily over a glassy swell flawed here and there by +catspaws from astern. It was the tail-end of the monsoon season, and the +air was heavy and sticky with tropic moisture, the sky a florid, leaden +muss of formless clouds. The rugged land was swathed with cloud-banks +and squall wreaths, through which headlands and interior peaks thrust +darkly. On one promontory a slant of sunshine blazed torridly, on +another, scarcely a mile away, a squall was bursting in furious downpour +of driving rain. + +This was the dank, fat, savage island of New Gibbon, lying fifty miles +to leeward of Choiseul. Geographically, it belonged to the Solomon +Group. Politically, the dividing line of German and British +influence cut it in half, hence the joint control by the two Resident +Commissioners. In the case of New Gibbon, this control existed only on +paper in the colonial offices of the two countries. There was no real +control at all, and never had been. The beche de mer fishermen of +the old days had passed it by. The sandalwood traders, after stern +experiences, had given it up. The blackbirders had never succeeded in +recruiting one labourer on the island, and, after the schooner _Dorset_ +had been cut off with all hands, they left the place severely alone. +Later, a German company had attempted a cocoanut plantation, which was +abandoned after several managers and a number of contract labourers had +lost their heads. German cruisers and British cruisers had failed to +get the savage blacks to listen to reason. Four times the missionary +societies had essayed the peaceful conquest of the island, and four +times, between sickness and massacre, they had been driven away, More +cruisers, more pacifications, had followed, and followed fruitlessly. +The cannibals had always retreated into the bush and laughed at the +screaming shells. When the warships left it was an easy matter +to rebuild the burned grass houses and set up the ovens in the +old-fashioned way. + +New Gibbon was a large island, fully one hundred and fifty miles long +and half as broad. + +Its windward coast was iron-bound, without anchorages or inlets, and it +was inhabited by scores of warring tribes--at least it had been, +until Koho had arisen, like a Kamehameha, and, by force of arms and +considerable statecraft, firmly welded the greater portion of the tribes +into a confederation. His policy of permitting no intercourse with white +men had been eminently right, so far as survival of his own people was +concerned; and after the visit of the last cruiser he had had his own +way until David Grief and McTavish the Trouble-mender landed on the +deserted beach where once had stood the German bungalow and barracks and +the various English mission-houses. + +Followed wars, false peaces, and more wars. The weazened little +Scotchman could make trouble as well as mend it, and, not content with +holding the beach, he imported bushmen from Malaita and invaded the +wild-pig runs of the interior jungle. He burned villages until Koho +wearied of rebuilding them, and when he captured Koho's eldest son he +compelled a conference with the old chief. It was then that McTavish +laid down the rate of head-exchange. For each head of his own people +he promised to take ten of Koho's. After Koho had learned that the +Scotchman was a man of his word, the first true peace was made. In +the meantime McTavish had built the bungalow and barracks, cleared the +jungle-land along the beach, and laid out the plantation. After that +he had gone on his way to mend trouble on the atoll of Tasman, where +a plague of black measles had broken out and been ascribed to Grief's +plantation by the devil-devil doctors. Once, a year later, he had been +called back again to straighten up New Gibbon; and Koho, after paying a +forced fine of two hundred thousand cocoanuts, decided it was cheaper +to keep the peace and sell the nuts. Also, the fires of his youth +had burned down. He was getting old and limped of one leg where a +Lee-Enfield bullet had perforated the calf. + + + + +II + +"I knew a chap in Hawaii," Grief said, "superintendent of a sugar +plantation, who used a hammer and a ten-penny nail." + +They were sitting on the broad bungalow veranda, and watching Worth, the +manager of New Gibbon, doctoring the sick squad. They were New Georgia +boys, a dozen of them, and the one with the aching tooth had been put +back to the last. Worth had just failed in his first attempt. He wiped +the sweat from his forehead with one hand and waved the forceps with the +other. + +"And broke more than one jaw," he asserted grimly. + +Grief shook his head. Wallenstein smiled and elevated his brows. + +"He said not, at any rate," Grief qualified. "He assured me, +furthermore, that he always succeeded on the first trial." + +"I saw it done when I was second mate on a lime-juicer," Captain Ward +spoke up. "The old man used a caulking mallet and a steel marlin-spike. +He took the tooth out with the first stroke, too, clean as a whistle." + +"Me for the forceps," Worth muttered grimly, inserting his own pair in +the mouth of the black. As he pulled, the man groaned and rose in the +air. "Lend a hand, somebody, and hold him down," the manager appealed. + +Grief and Wallenstein, on either side, gripped the black and held him. +And he, in turn, struggled against them and clenched his teeth on the +forceps. The group swayed back and forth. Such exertion, in the stagnant +heat, brought the sweat out on all of them. The black sweated, too, but +his was the sweat of excruciating pain. The chair on which he sat was +overturned. Captain Ward paused in the act of pouring himself a drink, +and called encouragement. Worth pleaded with his assistants to hang +on, and hung on himself, twisting the tooth till it crackled and then +attempting a straightaway pull. + +Nor did any of them notice the little black man who limped up the steps +and stood looking on. Koho was a conservative. His fathers before him +had worn no clothes, and neither did he, not even a gee-string. The many +empty perforations in nose and lips and ears told of decorative passions +long since dead. The holes on both ear-lobes had been torn out, but +their size was attested by the strips of withered flesh that hung down +and swept his shoulders. He cared now only for utility, and in one of +the half dozen minor holes in his right ear he carried a short clay +pipe. Around his waist was buckled a cheap trade-belt, and between the +imitation leather and the naked skin was thrust the naked blade of a +long knife. Suspended from the belt was his bamboo betel-nut and lime +box. In his hand was a short-barrelled, large-bore Snider rifle. He +was indescribably filthy, and here and there marred by scars, the worst +being the one left by the Lee-Enfield bullet, which had withered the +calf to half the size of its mate. His shrunken mouth showed that few +teeth were left to serve him. Face and body were shrunken and withered, +but his black, bead-like eyes, small and close together, were very +bright, withal they were restless and querulous, and more like a +monkey's than a man's. + +He looked on, grinning like a shrewd little ape. His joy in the torment +of the patient was natural, for the world he lived in was a world of +pain. He had endured his share of it, and inflicted far more than his +share on others. When the tooth parted from its locked hold in the jaw +and the forceps raked across the other teeth and out of the mouth with a +nerve-rasping sound, old Koho's eyes fairly sparkled, and he looked +with glee at the poor black, collapsed on the veranda floor and groaning +terribly as he held his head in both his hands. + +"I think he's going to faint," Grief said, bending over the victim. +"Captain Ward, give him a drink, please. You'd better take one yourself, +Worth; you're shaking like a leaf." + +"And I think I'll take one," said Wallenstein, wiping the sweat from his +face. His eye caught the shadow of Koho on the floor and followed it up +to the old chief himself. "Hello! who's this?" + +"Hello, Koho!" Grief said genially, though he knew better than to offer +to shake hands. + +It was one of Koho's _tambos_, given him by the devil-devil doctors when +he was born, that never was his flesh to come in contact with the flesh +of a white man. Worth and Captain Ward, of the _Wonder_, greeted Koho, +but Worth frowned at sight of the Snider, for it was one of his _tambos_ +that no visiting bushman should carry a weapon on the plantation. Rifles +had a nasty way of going off at the hip under such circumstances. The +manager clapped his hands, and a black house-boy, recruited from San +Cristobal, came running. At a sign from Worth, he took the rifle from +the visitor's hand and carried it inside the bungalow. + +"Koho," Grief said, introducing the German Resident, "this big fella +marster belong Bougainville--my word, big fella marster too much." + +Koho, remembering the visits of the various German cruisers, smiled with +a light of unpleasant reminiscence in his eyes. + +"Don't shake hands with him, Wallenstein," Grief warned. "_Tambo_, you +know." Then to Koho, "My word, you get 'm too much fat stop along you. +Bime by you marry along new fella Mary, eh?" + +"Too old fella me," Koho answered, with a weary shake of the head. "Me +no like 'm Mary. Me no like 'm _kai-kai_ (food). Close up me die along +altogether." He stole a significant glance at Worth, whose head was +tilted back to a long glass. "Me like 'm rum." + +Grief shook his head. + +"_Tambo_ along black fella." + +"He black fella no tambo," Koho retorted, nodding toward the groaning +labourer. + +"He fella sick," Grief explained. + +"Me fella sick." + +"You fella big liar," Grief laughed. "Rum tambo, all the time tambo. +Now, Koho, we have big fella talk along this big fella mar-ster." + +And he and Wallenstein and the old chief sat down on the veranda to +confer about affairs of state. Koho was complimented on the peace he +had kept, and he, with many protestations of his aged decrepitude, swore +peace again and everlasting. Then was discussed the matter of starting a +German plantation twenty miles down the coast. The land, of course, was +to be bought from Koho, and the price was arranged in terms of tobacco, +knives, beads, pipes, hatchets, porpoise teeth and shell-money--in terms +of everything except rum. While the talk went on, Koho, glancing through +the window, could see Worth mixing medicines and placing bottles back in +the medicine cupboard. Also, he saw the manager complete his labours by +taking a drink of Scotch. Koho noted the bottle carefully. And, though +he hung about for an hour after the conference was over, there was never +a moment when some one or another was not in the room. When Grief and +Worth sat down to a business talk, Koho gave it up. + +"Me go along schooner," he announced, then turned and limped out. + +"How are the mighty fallen," Grief laughed. "To think that used to be +Koho, the fiercest red-handed murderer in the Solomons, who defied all +his life two of the greatest world powers. And now he's going aboard to +try and cadge Denby for a drink." + + + + +III + +For the last time in his life the supercargo of the _Wonder_ perpetrated +a practical joke on a native. He was in the main cabin, checking off the +list of goods being landed in the whaleboats, when Koho limped down the +com-panionway and took a seat opposite him at the table. + +"Close up me die along altogether," was the burden of the old chief's +plaint. All the delights of the flesh had forsaken him. "Me no like +'m Mary. Me no like 'm _kai-kai_. Me too much sick fella. Me close up +finish." A long, sad pause, in which his face expressed unutterable +concern for his stomach, which he patted gingerly and with an assumption +of pain. "Belly belong me too much sick." Another pause, which was an +invitation to Denby to make suggestions. Then followed a long, weary, +final sigh, and a "Me like 'm rum." + +Denby laughed heartlessly. He had been cadged for drinks before by the +old cannibal, and the sternest _tambo_ Grief and McTavish had laid down +was the one forbidding alcohol to the natives of New Gibbon. + +The trouble was that Koho had acquired the taste. In his younger days +he had learned the delights of drunkenness when he cut off the schooner +_Dorset_, but unfortunately he had learned it along with all his +tribesmen, and the supply had not held out long. Later, when he led his +naked warriors down to the destruction of the German plantation, he was +wiser, and he appropriated all the liquors for his sole use. The result +had been a gorgeous mixed drunk, on a dozen different sorts of drink, +ranging from beer doctored with quinine to absinthe and apricot brandy. +The drunk had lasted for months, and it had left him with a thirst that +would remain with him until he died. Predisposed toward alcohol, after +the way of savages, all the chemistry of his flesh clamoured for it. +This craving was to him expressed in terms of tingling and sensation, of +maggots crawling warmly and deliciously in his brain, of good feeling, +and well being, and high exultation. And in his barren old age, when +women and feasting were a weariness, and when old hates had smouldered +down, he desired more and more the revivifying fire that came liquid out +of bottles--out of all sorts of bottles--for he remembered them well. +He would sit in the sun for hours, occasionally drooling, in mournful +contemplation of the great orgy which had been his when the German +plantation was cleaned out. + +Denby was sympathetic. He sought out the old chief's symptoms and +offered him dyspeptic tablets from the medicine chest, pills, and +a varied assortment of harmless tabloids and capsules. But Koho +steadfastly declined. Once, when he cut the _Dorset_ off, he had bitten +through a capsule of quinine; in addition, two of his warriors had +partaken of a white powder and laid down and died very violently in a +very short time. No; he did not believe in drugs. But the liquids from +bottles, the cool-flaming youth-givers and warm-glowing dream-makers. No +wonder the white men valued them so highly and refused to dispense them. + +"Rum he good fella," he repeated over and over, plaintively and with the +weary patience of age. + +And then Denby made his mistake and played his joke. Stepping around +behind Koho, he unlocked the medicine closet and took out a four-ounce +bottle labelled _essence of mustard_. As he made believe to draw the +cork and drink of the contents, in the mirror on the for'ard bulkhead he +glimpsed Koho, twisted half around, intently watching him. Denby smacked +his lips and cleared his throat appreciatively as he replaced the +bottle. Neglecting to relock the medicine closet, he returned to his +chair, and, after a decent interval, went on deck. He stood beside the +companionway and listened. After several moments the silence below was +broken by a fearful, wheezing, propulsive, strangling cough. He smiled +to himself and returned leisurely down the companionway. The bottle was +back on the shelf where it belonged, and the old man sat in the same +position. Denby marvelled at his iron control. Mouth and lips and +tongue, and all sensitive membranes, were a blaze of fire. He gasped +and nearly coughed several times, while involuntary tears brimmed in +his eyes and ran down his cheeks. An ordinary man would have coughed and +strangled for half an hour. But old Koho's face was grimly composed. It +dawned on him that a trick had been played, and into his eyes came an +expression of hatred and malignancy so primitive, so abysmal, that it +sent the chills up and down Denby's spine. Koho arose proudly. + +"Me go along," he said. "You sing out one fella boat stop along me." + + + + +IV + +Having seen Grief and Worth start for a ride over the plantation, +Wallenstein sat down in the big living-room and with gun-oil and old +rags proceeded to take apart and clean his automatic pistol. On the +table beside him stood the inevitable bottle of Scotch and numerous soda +bottles. Another bottle, part full, chanced to stand there. It was also +labelled Scotch, but its content was liniment which Worth had mixed for +the horses and neglected to put away. + +As Wallenstein worked, he glanced through the window and saw Koho coming +up the compound path. He was limping very rapidly, but when he came +along the veranda and entered the room his gait was slow and dignified. +He sat down and watched the gun-cleaning, Though mouth and lips and +tongue were afire, he gave no sign. At the end of five minutes he spoke. + +"Rum he good fella. Me like 'm rum." Wallenstein smiled and shook his +head, and then it was that his perverse imp suggested what was to be his +last joke on a native. The similarity of the two bottles was the real +suggestion. He laid his pistol parts on the table and mixed himself +a long drink. Standing as he did between Koho and the table, he +interchanged the two bottles, drained his glass, made as if to search +for something, and left the room. From outside he heard the surprised +splutter and cough; but when he returned the old chief sat as before. +The liniment in the bottle, however, was lower, and it still oscillated. + +Koho stood up, clapped his hands, and, when the house-boy answered, +signed that he desired his rifle. The boy fetched the weapon, and +according to custom preceded the visitor down the pathway. Not +until outside the gate did the boy turn the rifle over to its owner. +Wallenstein, chuckling to himself, watched the old chief limp along the +beach in the direction of the river. + +A few minutes later, as he put his pistol together, Wallenstein heard +the distant report of a gun. For the instant he thought of Koho, then +dismissed the conjecture from his mind. Worth and Grief had taken +shotguns with them, and it was probably one of their shots at a pigeon. +Wallenstein lounged back in his chair, chuckled, twisted his yellow +mustache, and dozed. He was aroused by the excited voice of Worth, +crying out: + +"Ring the big fella bell! Ring plenty too much! Ring like hell!" + +Wallenstein gained the veranda in time to see the manager jump his horse +over the low fence of the compound and dash down the beach after Grief, +who was riding madly ahead. A loud crackling and smoke rising through +the cocoanut trees told the story. The boat-houses and the barracks +were on fire. The big plantation bell was ringing wildly as the German +Resident ran down the beach, and he could see whaleboats hastily putting +off from the schooner. + +Barracks and boat-houses, grass-thatched and like tinder, were wrapped +in flames. Grief emerged from the kitchen, carrying a naked black child +by the leg. Its head was missing. + +"The cook's in there," he told Worth. "Her head's gone, too. She was too +heavy, and I had to clear out." + +"It was my fault," Wallenstein said. "Old Koho did it. But I let him +take a drink of Worth's horse liniment." + +"I guess he's headed for the bush," Worth said, springing astride his +horse and starting. "Oliver is down there by the river. Hope he didn't +get _him_." + +The manager galloped away through the trees. A few minutes later, as +the charred wreck of the barracks crashed in, they heard him calling and +followed. On the edge of the river bank they came upon him. He still sat +on his horse, very white-faced, and gazed at something on the ground. It +was the body of Oliver, the young assistant manager, though it was hard +to realize it, for the head was gone. The black labourers, breathless +from their run in from the fields, were now crowding around, and under +conches to-night, and the war-drums, "all merry hell will break loose. +They won't rush us, but keep all the boys close up to the house, Mr. +Worth. Come on!" + +As they returned along the path they came upon a black who whimpered and +cried vociferously. + +"Shut up mouth belong you!" Worth shouted. "What name you make 'm +noise?" + +"Him fella Koho finish along two fella bulla-macow," the black answered, +drawing a forefinger significantly across his throat. + +"He's knifed the cows," Grief said. "That means no more milk for some +time for you, Worth. I'll see about sending a couple up from Ugi." + +Wallenstein proved inconsolable, until Denby, coming ashore, confessed +to the dose of essence of mustard. Thereat the German Resident became +even cheerful, though he twisted his yellow mustache up more fiercely +and continued to curse the Solomons with oaths culled from four +languages. + +Next morning, visible from the masthead of the _Wonder_, the bush +was alive with signal-smokes. From promontory to promontory, and back +through the solid jungle, the smoke-pillars curled and puffed and +talked. Remote villages on the higher peaks, beyond the farthest raids +McTavish had ever driven, joined in the troubled conversation. From +across the river persisted a bedlam of conches; while from everywhere, +drifting for miles along the quiet air, came the deep, booming +reverberations of the great war-drums--huge tree trunks, hollowed by +fire and carved with tools of stone and shell. "You're all right as long +as you stay close," Grief told his manager. "I've got to get along +to Guvutu. They won't come out in the open and attack you. Keep the +work-gangs close. Stop the clearing till this blows over. They'll get +any detached gangs you send out. And, whatever you do, don't be fooled +into going into the bush after Koho. If you do, he'll get you. All +you've got to do is wait for McTavish. I'll send him up with a bunch of +his Malaita bush-men. He's the only man who can go inside. Also, until +he comes, I'll leave Denby with you. You don't mind, do you, Mr. Denby? +I'll send McTavish up with the _Wanda_, and you can go back on her and +rejoin the _Wonder_. Captain Ward can manage without you for a trip." + +"It was just what I was going to volunteer," Denby answered. "I never +dreamed all this muss would be kicked up over a joke. You see, in a way +I consider myself responsible for it." + +"So am I responsible," Wallenstein broke in. + +"But I started it," the supercargo urged. + +"Maybe you did, but I carried it along." + +"And Koho finished it," Grief said. + +"At any rate, I, too, shall remain," said the German. + +"I thought you were coming to Guvutu with me," Grief protested. + +"I was. But this is my jurisdiction, partly, and I have made a fool of +myself in it completely. I shall remain and help get things straight +again." + +At Guvutu, Grief sent full instructions to McTavish by a recruiting +ketch which was just starting for Malaita. Captain Ward sailed in the +_Wonder_ for the Santa Cruz Islands; and Grief, borrowing a whaleboat +and a crew of black prisoners from the British Resident, crossed the +channel to Guadalcanar, to examine the grass lands back of Penduffryn. + +Three weeks later, with a free sheet and a lusty breeze, he threaded the +coral patches and surged up the smooth water to Guvutu anchorage. The +harbour was deserted, save for a small ketch which lay close in to the +shore reef. Grief recognized it as the _Wanda_. She had evidently just +got in by the Tulagi Passage, for her black crew was still at work +furling the sails. As he rounded alongside, McTavish himself extended a +hand to help him over the rail. + +"What's the matter?" Grief asked. "Haven't you started yet?" + +McTavish nodded. "And got back. Everything's all right on board." + +"How's New Gibbon?" + +"All there, the last I saw of it, barrin' a few inconsequential frills +that a good eye could make out lacking from the landscape." + +He was a cold flame of a man, small as Koho, and as dried up, with a +mahogany complexion and small, expressionless blue eyes that were more +like gimlet-points than the eyes of a Scotchman. Without fear, without +enthusiasm, impervious to disease and climate and sentiment, he was lean +and bitter and deadly as a snake. That his present sour look boded ill +news, Grief was well aware. + +"Spit it out!" he said. "What's happened?" + +"'Tis a thing severely to be condemned, a damned shame, this joking with +heathen niggers," was the reply. "Also, 'tis very expensive. Come below, +Mr. Grief. You'll be better for the information with a long glass in +your hand. After you." + +"How did you settle things?" his employer demanded as soon as they were +seated in the cabin. + +The little Scotchman shook his head. "There was nothing to settle. It +all depends how you look at it. The other way would be to say it was +settled, entirely settled, mind you, before I got there." + +"But the plantation, man? The plantation?" + +"No plantation. All the years of our work have gone for naught. 'Tis +back where we started, where the missionaries started, where the Germans +started--and where they finished. Not a stone stands on another at the +landing pier. The houses are black ashes. Every tree is hacked down, and +the wild pigs are rooting out the yams and sweet potatoes. Those boys +from New Georgia, a fine bunch they were, five score of them, and they +cost you a pretty penny. Not one is left to tell the tale." + +He paused and began fumbling in a large locker under the +companion-steps. + +"But Worth? And Denby? And Wallenstein?" + +"That's what I'm telling you. Take a look." + +McTavish dragged out a sack made of rice matting and emptied its +contents on the floor. David Grief pulled himself together with a jerk, +for he found himself gazing fascinated at the heads of the three men he +had left at New Gibbon. The yellow mustache of Wallenstein had lost its +fierce curl and drooped and wilted on the upper lip. + +"I don't know how it happened," the Scotchman's voice went on drearily. +"But I surmise they went into the bush after the old devil." + +"And where is Koho?" Grief asked. + +"Back in the bush and drunk as a lord. That's how I was able to recover +the heads. He was too drunk to stand. They lugged him on their backs out +of the village when I rushed it. And if you'll relieve me of the heads, +I'll be well obliged." He paused and sighed. "I suppose they'll have +regular funerals over them and put them in the ground. But in my way of +thinking they'd make excellent curios. Any respectable museum would pay +a hundred quid apiece. Better have another drink. You're looking a bit +pale---- There, put that down you, and if you'll take my advice, Mr. +Grief, I would say, set your face sternly against any joking with +the niggers. It always makes trouble, and it is a very expensive +divertisement." + + + + + +Chapter Five--A LITTLE ACCOUNT WITH SWITHIN HALL + + + + +I + +With a last long scrutiny at the unbroken circle of the sea, David Grief +swung out of the cross-trees and slowly and dejectedly descended the +ratlines to the deck. + +"Leu-Leu Atoll is sunk, Mr. Snow," he said to the anxious-faced young +mate. "If there is anything in navigation, the atoll is surely under the +sea, for we've sailed clear over it twice--or the spot where it ought to +be. It's either that or the chronometer's gone wrong, or I've forgotten +my navigation." + +"It must be the chronometer, sir," the mate reassured his owner. "You +know I made separate sights and worked them up, and that they agreed +with yours." + +"Yes," Grief muttered, nodding glumly, "and where your Summer lines +crossed, and mine, too, was the dead centre of Leu-Leu Atoll. It must be +the chronometer--slipped a cog or something." + +He made a short pace to the rail and back, and cast a troubled eye at +the _Uncle Toby's_ wake. The schooner, with a fairly strong breeze on +her quarter, was logging nine or ten knots. + +"Better bring her up on the wind, Mr. Snow. Put her under easy sail and +let her work to windward on two-hour legs. It's thickening up, and I +don't imagine we can get a star observation to-night; so we'll just hold +our weather position, get a latitude sight to-morrow, and run Leu-Leu +down on her own latitude. That's the way all the old navigators did." + +Broad of beam, heavily sparred, with high freeboard and bluff, Dutchy +bow, the _Uncle Toby_ was the slowest, tubbiest, safest, and most +fool-proof schooner David Grief possessed. Her run was in the Banks and +Santa Cruz groups and to the northwest among the several isolated atolls +where his native traders collected copra, hawksbill turtle, and +an occasional ton of pearl shell. Finding the skipper down with a +particularly bad stroke of fever, Grief had relieved him and taken the +_Uncle Toby_ on her semiannual run to the atolls. He had elected to make +his first call at Leu-Leu, which lay farthest, and now found himself +lost at sea with a chronometer that played tricks. + + + + +II + +No stars showed that night, nor was the sun visible next day. A stuffy, +sticky calm obtained, broken by big wind-squalls and heavy downpours. +From fear of working too far to windward, the Uncle Toby was hove to, +and four days and nights of cloud-hidden sky followed. Never did the sun +appear, and on the several occasions that stars broke through they were +too dim and fleeting for identification. By this time it was patent to +the veriest tyro that the elements were preparing to break loose. Grief, +coming on deck from consulting the barometer, which steadfastly remained +at 29.90, encountered Jackie-Jackie, whose face was as brooding +and troublous as the sky and air. Jackie-Jackie, a Tongan sailor of +experience, served as a sort of bosun and semi-second mate over the +mixed Kanaka crew. + +"Big weather he come, I think," he said. "I see him just the same before +maybe five, six times." + +Grief nodded. "Hurricane weather, all right, Jackie-Jackie. Pretty soon +barometer go down--bottom fall out." + +"Sure," the Tongan concurred. "He goin' to blow like hell." + +Ten minutes later Snow came on deck. + +"She's started," he said; "29.85, going down and pumping at the same +time. It's stinking hot--don't you notice it?" He brushed his forehead +with his hands. "It's sickening. I could lose my breakfast without +trying." + +Jackie-Jackie grinned. "Just the same me. Everything inside walk about. +Always this way before big blow. But _Uncle Toby_ all right. He go +through anything." + +"Better rig that storm-trysail on the main, and a storm-jib," Grief said +to the mate. "And put all the reefs into the working canvas before you +furl down. No telling what we may need. Put on double gaskets while +you're about it." + +In another hour, the sultry oppressiveness steadily increasing and the +stark calm still continuing, the barometer had fallen to 29.70. The +mate, being young, lacked the patience of waiting for the portentous. He +ceased his restless pacing, and waved his arms. + +"If she's going to come let her come!" he cried. "There's no use +shilly-shallying this way! Whatever the worst is, let us know it and +have it! A pretty pickle--lost with a crazy chronometer and a hurricane +that won't blow!" + +The cloud-mussed sky turned to a vague copper colour, and seemed to +glow as the inside of a huge heated caldron. Nobody remained below. The +native sailors formed in anxious groups amidships and for'ard, where +they talked in low voices and gazed apprehensively at the ominous +sky and the equally ominous sea that breathed in long, low, oily +undulations. + +"Looks like petroleum mixed with castor oil," the mate grumbled, as he +spat his disgust overside. "My mother used to dose me with messes like +that when I was a kid. Lord, she's getting black!" + +The lurid coppery glow had vanished, and the sky thickened and lowered +until the darkness was as that of a late twilight. David Grief, who +well knew the hurricane rules, nevertheless reread the "Laws of Storms," +screwing his eyes in the faint light in order to see the print. There +was nothing to be done save wait for the wind, so that he might know +how he lay in relation to the fast-flying and deadly centre that from +somewhere was approaching out of the gloom. + +It was three in the afternoon, and the glass had sunk to 29:45, when +the wind came. They could see it on the water, darkening the face of the +sea, crisping tiny whitecaps as it rushed along. It was merely a stiff +breeze, and the _Uncle Toby_, filling away under her storm canvas till +the wind was abeam, sloshed along at a four-knot gait. + +"No weight to that," Snow sneered. "And after such grand preparation!" + +"Pickaninny wind," Jackie-Jackie agreed. "He grow big man pretty quick, +you see." + +Grief ordered the foresail put on, retaining the reefs, and the _Uncle +Toby_ mended her pace in the rising breeze. The wind quickly grew to +man's size, but did not stop there. It merely blew hard, and harder, and +kept on blowing harder, advertising each increase by lulls followed by +fierce, freshening gusts. Ever it grew, until the _Uncle Toby's_ rail +was more often pressed under than not, while her waist boiled with +foaming water which the scuppers could not carry off. Grief studied the +barometer, still steadily falling. + +"The centre is to the southward," he told Snow, "and we're running +across its path and into it. Now we'll turn about and run the other way. +That ought to bring the glass up. Take in the foresail--it's more than +she can carry already--and stand by to wear her around." + +The maneuver was accomplished, and through the gloom that was almost +that of the first darkness of evening the _Uncle Toby_ turned and raced +madly north across the face of the storm. + +"It's nip and tuck," Grief confided to the mate a couple of hours +later. "The storm's swinging a big curve--there's no calculating that +curve--and we may win across or the centre may catch us. Thank the Lord, +the glass is holding its own. It all depends on how big the curve is. +The sea's too big for us to keep on. Heave her to! She'll keep working +along out anyway." + +"I thought I knew what wind was," Snow shouted in his owner's ear next +morning. "This isn't wind. It's something unthinkable. It's impossible. +It must reach ninety or a hundred miles an hour in the gusts. That don't +mean anything. How could I ever tell it to anybody? I couldn't. And look +at that sea! I've run my Easting down, but I never saw anything like +that." + +Day had come, and the sun should have been up an hour, yet the best +it could produce was a sombre semi-twilight. The ocean was a stately +procession of moving mountains. A third of a mile across yawned the +valleys between the great waves. Their long slopes, shielded somewhat +from the full fury of the wind, were broken by systems of smaller +whitecapping waves, but from the high crests of the big waves themselves +the wind tore the whitecaps in the forming. This spume drove masthead +high, and higher, horizontally, above the surface of the sea. + +"We're through the worst," was Grief's judgment. "The glass is coming +along all the time. The sea will get bigger as the wind eases down. I'm +going to turn in. Watch for shifts in the wind. They'll be sure to come. +Call me at eight bells." + +By mid-afternoon, in a huge sea, with the wind after its last shift no +more than a stiff breeze, the Tongan bosun sighted a schooner bottom +up. The _Uncle Toby's_ drift took them across the bow and they could +not make out the name; but before night they picked up with a small, +round-bottom, double-ender boat, swamped but with white lettering +visible on its bow. Through the binoculars, Gray made out: _Emily L No. +3_. + +"A sealing schooner," Grief said. "But what a sealer's doing in these +waters is beyond me." + +"Treasure-hunters, maybe?" Snow speculated. "The _Sophie Sutherland_ and +the _Herman_ were sealers, you remember, chartered out of San Francisco +by the chaps with the maps who can always go right to the spot until +they get there and don't." + + + + +III + +After a giddy night of grand and lofty tumbling, in which, over a big +and dying sea, without a breath of wind to steady her, the Uncle Toby +rolled every person on board sick of soul, a light breeze sprang up +and the reefs were shaken out. By midday, on a smooth ocean floor, the +clouds thinned and cleared and sights of the sun were obtained. Two +degrees and fifteen minutes south, the observation gave them. With a +broken chronometer longitude was out of the question. + +"We're anywhere within five hundred and a thousand miles along that +latitude line," Grief remarked, as he and the mate bent over the chart. + +"Leu-Leu is to the south'ard somewhere, and this section of ocean is all +blank. There is neither an island nor a reef by which we can regulate +the chronometer. The only thing to do--" + +"Land ho, skipper!" the Tongan called down the companionway. + +Grief took a quick glance at the empty blank of the chart, whistled his +surprise, and sank back feebly in a chair. + +"It gets me," he said. "There can't be land around here. We never +drifted or ran like that. The whole voyage has been crazy. Will you +kindly go up, Mr. Snow, and see what's ailing Jackie." + +"It's land all right," the mate called down a minute afterward. "You can +see it from the deck--tops of cocoanuts--an atoll of some sort. Maybe +it's Leu-Leu after all." + +Grief shook his head positively as he gazed at the fringe of palms, only +the tops visible, apparently rising out of the sea. + +"Haul up on the wind, Mr. Snow, close-and-by, and we'll take a look. +We can just reach past to the south, and if it spreads off in that +direction we'll hit the southwest corner." + +Very near must palms be to be seen from the low deck of a schooner, and, +slowly as the _Uncle Toby_ sailed, she quickly raised the low land above +the sea, while more palms increased the definition of the atoll circle. + +"She's a beauty," the mate remarked. "A perfect circle.... Looks as if +it might be eight or nine miles across.... Wonder if there's an entrance +to the lagoon.... Who knows? Maybe it's a brand new find." + +They coasted up the west side of the atoll, making short tacks in to +the surf-pounded coral rock and out again. From the masthead, across +the palm-fringe, a Kanaka announced the lagoon and a small island in the +middle. + +"I know what you're thinking," Grief said to his mate. + +Snow, who had been muttering and shaking his head, looked up with quick +and challenging incredulity. + +"You're thinking the entrance will be on the northwest." Grief went on, +as if reciting. + +"Two cable lengths wide, marked on the north by three separated +cocoanuts, and on the south by pandanus trees. Eight miles in diameter, +a perfect circle, with an island in the dead centre." + +"I _was_ thinking that," Snow acknowledged. + +"And there's the entrance opening up just where it ought to be----" + +"And the three palms," Snow almost whispered, "and the pandanus trees. +If there's a windmill on the island, it's it--Swithin Hall's island. But +it can't be. Everybody's been looking for it for the last ten years." + +"Hall played you a dirty trick once, didn't he?" Grief queried. + +Snow nodded. "That's why I'm working for you. He broke me flat. It was +downright robbery. I bought the wreck of the _Cascade_, down in Sydney, +out of a first instalment of a legacy from home." + +"She went on Christmas Island, didn't she?" + +"Yes, full tilt, high and dry, in the night. They saved the passengers +and mails. Then I bought a little island schooner, which took the rest +of my money, and I had to wait the final payment by the executors to fit +her out. What did Swithin Hall do--he was at Honolulu at the time--but +make a straightaway run for Christmas Island. Neither right nor title +did he have. When I got there, the hull and engines were all that was +left of the _Cascade_. She had had a fair shipment of silk on board, +too. And it wasn't even damaged. I got it afterward pretty straight from +his supercargo. He cleared something like sixty thousand dollars." + +Snow shrugged his shoulders and gazed bleakly at the smooth surface of +the lagoon, where tiny wavelets danced in the afternoon sun. + +"The wreck was mine. I bought her at public auction. I'd gambled big, +and I'd lost. When I got back to Sydney, the crew, and some of the +tradesmen who'd extended me credit, libelled the schooner. I pawned +my watch and sextant, and shovelled coal one spell, and finally got a +billet in the New Hebrides on a screw of eight pounds a month. Then I +tried my luck as independent trader, went broke, took a mate's billet on +a recruiter down to Tanna and over to Fiji, got a job as overseer on a +German plantation back of Apia, and finally settled down on the _Uncle +Toby_." + +"Have you ever met Swithin Hall?" + +Snow shook his head. + +"Well, you're likely to meet him now. There's the windmill." + +In the centre of the lagoon, as they emerged from the passage, they +opened a small, densely wooded island, among the trees of which a large +Dutch windmill showed plainly. + +"Nobody at home from the looks of it," Grief said, "or you might have a +chance to collect." + +The mate's face set vindictively, and his fists clenched. + +"Can't touch him legally. He's got too much money now. But I can take +sixty thousand dollars' worth out of his hide. I hope he is at home." + +"Then I hope he is, too," Grief said, with an appreciative smile. "You +got the description of his island from Bau-Oti, I suppose?" + +"Yes, as pretty well everybody else has. The trouble is that Bau-Oti +can't give latitude or longitude. Says they sailed a long way from the +Gilberts--that's all he knows. I wonder what became of him." + +"I saw him a year ago on the beach at Tahiti. Said he was thinking about +shipping for a cruise through the Paumotus. Well, here we are, getting +close in. Heave the lead, Jackie-Jackie. Stand by to let go, Mr. Snow. +According to Bau-Oti, anchorage three hundred yards off the west shore +in nine fathoms, coral patches to the southeast. There are the patches. +What do you get, Jackie?" + +"Nine fadom." + +"Let go, Mr. Snow." + +The _Uncle Toby_ swung to her chain, head-sails ran down, and the Kanaka +crew sprang to fore and main-halyards and sheets. + + + + +IV + +The whaleboat laid alongside the small, coral-stone landing-pier, and +David Grief and his mate stepped ashore. + +"You'd think the place deserted," Grief said, as they walked up a sanded +path to the bungalow. "But I smell a smell that I've often smelled. +Something doing, or my nose is a liar. The lagoon is carpeted with +shell. They're rotting the meat out not a thousand miles away. Get that +whiff?" + +Like no bungalow in the tropics was this bungalow of Swithin Hall. Of +mission architecture, when they had entered through the unlatched screen +door they found decoration and furniture of the same mission style. The +floor of the big living-room was covered with the finest Samoan mats. +There were couches, window seats, cozy corners, and a billiard table. A +sewing table, and a sewing-basket, spilling over with sheer linen in the +French embroidery of which stuck a needle, tokened a woman's presence. +By screen and veranda the blinding sunshine was subdued to a cool, dim +radiance. The sheen of pearl push-buttons caught Grief's eye. + +"Storage batteries, by George, run by the windmill!" he exclaimed as he +pressed the buttons. "And concealed lighting!" + +Hidden bowls glowed, and the room was filled with diffused golden light. +Many shelves of books lined the walls. Grief fell to running over +their titles. A fairly well-read man himself, for a sea-adventurer, he +glimpsed a wide-ness of range and catholicity of taste that were beyond +him. Old friends he met, and others that he had heard of but never read. +There were complete sets of Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Gorky; of Cooper +and Mark Twain; of Hugo, and Zola, and Sue; and of Flaubert, De +Maupassant, and Paul de Koch. He glanced curiously at the pages of +Metchnikoff, Weininger, and Schopenhauer, and wonderingly at those +of Ellis, Lydston, Krafft-Ebbing, and Forel. Woodruff's "Expansion of +Races" was in his hands when Snow returned from further exploration of +the house. + +"Enamelled bath-tub, separate room for a shower, and a sitz-bath!" he +exclaimed. "Fitted up for a king! And I reckon some of my money went to +pay for it. The place must be occupied. I found fresh-opened butter and +milk tins in the pantry, and fresh turtle-meat hanging up. I'm going to +see what else I can find." + +Grief, too, departed, through a door that led out of the opposite end +of the living-room. He found himself in a self-evident woman's bedroom. +Across it, he peered through a wire-mesh door into a screened and +darkened sleeping porch. On a couch lay a woman asleep. In the soft +light she seemed remarkably beautiful in a dark Spanish way. By her +side, opened and face downward, a novel lay on a chair. From the +colour in her cheeks, Grief concluded that she had not been long in the +tropics. After the one glimpse he stole softly back, in time to see Snow +entering the living-room through the other door. By the naked arm he was +clutching an age-wrinkled black who grinned in fear and made signs of +dumbness. + +"I found him snoozing in a little kennel out back," the mate said. "He's +the cook, I suppose. Can't get a word out of him. What did you find?" + +"A sleeping princess. S-sh! There's somebody now." + +"If it's Hall," Snow muttered, clenching his fist. + +Grief shook his head. "No rough-house. There's a woman here. And if it +is Hall, before we go I'll maneuver a chance for you to get action." + +The door opened, and a large, heavily built man entered. In his belt was +a heavy, long-barrelled Colt's. One quick, anxious look he gave them, +then his face wreathed in a genial smile and his hand was extended. + +"Welcome, strangers. But if you don't mind my asking, how, by all that's +sacred, did you ever manage to find my island?" + +"Because we were out of our course," Grief answered, shaking hands. + +"My name's Hall, Swithin Hall," the other said, turning to shake Snow's +hand. "And I don't mind telling you that you're the first visitors I've +ever had." + +"And this is your secret island that's had all the beaches talking for +years?" Grief answered. "Well, I know the formula now for finding it." + +"How's that?" Hall asked quickly. + +"Smash your chronometer, get mixed up with a hurricane, and then keep +your eyes open for cocoanuts rising out of the sea." + +"And what is your name?" Hall asked, after he had laughed perfunctorily. + +"Anstey--Phil Anstey," Grief answered promptly. "Bound on the _Uncle +Toby_ from the Gilberts to New Guinea, and trying to find my longitude. +This is my mate, Mr. Gray, a better navigator than I, but who has lost +his goat just the same to the chronometer." + +Grief did not know his reason for lying, but he had felt the prompting +and succumbed to it. He vaguely divined that something was wrong, but +could not place his finger on it. Swithin Hall was a fat, round-faced +man, with a laughing lip and laughter-wrinkles in the corners of his +eyes. But Grief, in his early youth, had learned how deceptive this type +could prove, as well as the deceptiveness of blue eyes that screened the +surface with fun and hid what went on behind. + +"What are you doing with my cook?--lost yours and trying to shanghai +him?" Hall was saying. "You'd better let him go, if you're going to have +any supper. My wife's here, and she'll be glad to meet you--dinner, she +calls it, and calls me down for misnaming it, but I'm old fashioned. My +folks always ate dinner in the middle of the day. Can't get over early +training. Don't you want to wash up? I do. Look at me. I've been working +like a dog--out with the diving crew--shell, you know. But of course you +smelt it." + + + + +V + +Snow pleaded charge of the schooner, and went on board. In addition to +his repugnance at breaking salt with the man who had robbed him, it was +necessary for him to impress the in-violableness of Grief's lies on the +Kanaka crew. By eleven o'clock Grief came on board, to find his mate +waiting up for him. + +"There's something doing on Swithin Hall's island," Grief said, shaking +his head. "I can't make out what it is, but I get the feel of it. What +does Swithin Hall look like?" + +Snow shook his head. + +"That man ashore there never bought the books on the shelves," Grief +declared with conviction. "Nor did he ever go in for concealed lighting. +He's got a surface flow of suavity, but he's rough as a hoof-rasp +underneath. He's an oily bluff. And the bunch he's got with him--Watson +and Gorman their names are; they came in after you left--real sea-dogs, +middle-aged, marred and battered, tough as rusty wrought-iron nails and +twice as dangerous; real ugly customers, with guns in their belts, who +don't strike me as just the right sort to be on such comradely terms +with Swithin Hall. And the woman! She's a lady. I mean it. She knows a +whole lot of South America, and of China, too. I'm sure she's Spanish, +though her English is natural. She's travelled. We talked bull-fights. +She's seen them in Guayaquil, in Mexico, in Seville. She knows a lot +about sealskins. + +"Now here's what bothers me. She knows music. I asked her if she played. +And he's fixed that place up like a palace. That being so, why hasn't +he a piano for her? Another thing: she's quick and lively and he watches +her whenever she talks. He's on pins and needles, and continually +breaking in and leading the conversation. Say, did you ever hear that +Swithin Hall was married?" + +"Bless me, I don't know," the mate replied. "Never entered my head to +think about it." + +"He introduced her as Mrs. Hall. And Watson and Gorman call him Hall. +They're a precious pair, those two men. I don't understand it at all." + +"What are you going to do about it?" Snow asked. + +"Oh, hang around a while. There are some books ashore there I want to +read. Suppose you send that topmast down in the morning and generally +overhaul. We've been through a hurricane, you know. Set up the rigging +while you're about it. Get things pretty well adrift, and take your +time." + + + + +VI + +The next day Grief's suspicions found further food. Ashore early, +he strolled across the little island to the barracks occupied by the +divers. + +They were just boarding the boats when he arrived, and it struck him +that for Kanakas they behaved more like chain-gang prisoners. The three +white men were there, and Grief noted that each carried a rifle. Hall +greeted him jovially enough, but Gorman and Watson scowled as they +grunted curt good mornings. + +A moment afterward one of the Kanakas, as he bent to place his oar, +favoured Grief with a slow, deliberate wink. The man's face was +familiar, one of the thousands of native sailors and divers he had +encountered drifting about in the island trade. + +"Don't tell them who I am," Grief said, in Tahitian. "Did you ever sail +for me?" + +The man's head nodded and his mouth opened, but before he could speak +he was suppressed by a savage "Shut up!" from Watson, who was already in +the sternsheets. + +"I beg pardon," Grief said. "I ought to have known better." + +"That's all right," Hall interposed. "The trouble is they're too much +talk and not enough work. Have to be severe with them, or they wouldn't +get enough shell to pay their grub." + +Grief nodded sympathetically. "I know them. Got a crew of them +myself--the lazy swine. Got to drive them like niggers to get a +half-day's work out of them." + +"What was you sayin' to him?" Gorman blurted in bluntly. + +"I was asking how the shell was, and how deep they were diving." + +"Thick," Hall took over the answering. "We're working now in about ten +fathom. It's right out there, not a hundred yards off. Want to come +along?" + +Half the day Grief spent with the boats, and had lunch in the bungalow. +In the afternoon he loafed, taking a siesta in the big living-room, +reading some, and talking for half an hour with Mrs. Hall. After dinner, +he played billiards with her husband. It chanced that Grief had never +before encountered Swithin Hall, yet the latter's fame as an expert at +billiards was the talk of the beaches from Levuka to Honolulu. But the +man Grief played with this night proved most indifferent at the game. +His wife showed herself far cleverer with the cue. + +When he went on board the _Uncle Toby_ Grief routed Jackie-Jackie out of +bed. He described the location of the barracks, and told the Tongan +to swim softly around and have talk with the Kanakas. In two hours +Jackie-Jackie was back. He shook his head as he stood dripping before +Grief. + +"Very funny t'ing," he reported. "One white man stop all the time. He +has big rifle. He lay in water and watch. Maybe twelve o'clock, other +white man come and take rifle. First white man go to bed. Other man stop +now with rifle. No good. Me cannot talk with Kanakas. Me come back." + +"By George!" Grief said to Snow, after the Tongan had gone back to his +bunk. "I smell something more than shell. Those three men are standing +watches over their Kanakas. That man's no more Swithin Hall than I am." + +Snow whistled from the impact of a new idea. + +"I've got it!" he cried. + +"And I'll name it," Grief retorted, "It's in your mind that the _Emily +L._ was their schooner?" + +"Just that. They're raising and rotting the shell, while she's gone for +more divers, or provisions, or both." + +"And I agree with you." Grief glanced at the cabin clock and evinced +signs of bed-going. "He's a sailor. The three of them are. But they're +not island men. They're new in these waters." + +Again Snow whistled. + +"And the _Emily L._ is lost with all hands," he said. "We know that. +They're marooned here till Swithin Hall comes. Then he'll catch them +with all the shell." + +"Or they'll take possession of his schooner." + +"Hope they do!" Snow muttered vindictively. "Somebody ought to rob him. +Wish I was in their boots. I'd balance off that sixty thousand." + + + + +VII + +A week passed, during which time the _Uncle Toby_ was ready for sea, +while Grief managed to allay any suspicion of him by the shore crowd. + +Even Gorman and Watson accepted him at his self-description. Throughout +the week Grief begged and badgered them for the longitude of the island. + +"You wouldn't have me leave here lost," he finally urged. "I can't get a +line on my chronometer without your longitude." + +Hall laughingly refused. + +"You're too good a navigator, Mr. Anstey, not to fetch New Guinea or +some other high land." + +"And you're too good a navigator, Mr. Hall," Grief replied, "not to know +that I can fetch your island any time by running down its latitude." + +On the last evening, ashore, as usual, to dinner, Grief got his first +view of the pearls they had collected. Mrs. Hall, waxing enthusiastic, +had asked her husband to bring forth the "pretties," and had spent half +an hour showing them to Grief. His delight in them was genuine, as well +as was his surprise that they had made so rich a haul. + +"The lagoon is virgin," Hall explained. "You saw yourself that most +of the shell is large and old. But it's funny that we got most of the +valuable pearls in one small patch in the course of a week. It was a +little treasure house. Every oyster seemed filled--seed pearls by the +quart, of course, but the perfect ones, most of that bunch there, came +out of the small patch." + +Grief ran his eye over them and knew their value ranged from one hundred +to a thousand dollars each, while the several selected large ones went +far beyond. + +"Oh, the pretties! the pretties!" Mrs. Hall cried, bending forward +suddenly and kissing them. + +A few minutes later she arose to say good-night. + +"It's good-bye," Grief said, as he took her hand. "We sail at daylight." + +"So suddenly!" she cried, while Grief could not help seeing the quick +light of satisfaction in her husband's eyes. + +"Yes," Grief continued. "All the repairs are finished. I can't get the +longitude of your island out of your husband, though I'm still in hopes +he'll relent." + +Hall laughed and shook his head, and, as his wife left the room, +proposed a last farewell nightcap. They sat over it, smoking and +talking. + +"What do you estimate they're worth?" Grief asked, indicating the spread +of pearls on the table. "I mean what the pearl-buyers would give you in +open market?" + +"Oh, seventy-five or eighty thousand," Hall said carelessly. + +"I'm afraid you're underestimating. I know pearls a bit. Take that +biggest one. It's perfect. Not a cent less than five thousand dollars. +Some multimillionaire will pay double that some day, when the dealers +have taken their whack. And never minding the seed pearls, you've got +quarts of baroques there. And baroques are coming into fashion. They're +picking up and doubling on themselves every year." + +Hall gave the trove of pearls a closer and longer scrutiny, estimating +the different parcels and adding the sum aloud. + +"You're right," he admitted. "They're worth a hundred thousand right +now." + +"And at what do you figure your working expenses?" Grief went on. "Your +time, and your two men's, and the divers'?" + +"Five thousand would cover it." + +"Then they stand to net you ninety-five thousand?" + +"Something like that. But why so curious?" + +"Why, I was just trying----" Grief paused and drained his glass. "Just +trying to reach some sort of an equitable arrangement. Suppose I should +give you and your people a passage to Sydney and the five thousand +dollars--or, better, seven thousand five hundred. You've worked hard." + +Without commotion or muscular movement the other man became alert and +tense. His round-faced geniality went out like the flame of a snuffed +candle. No laughter clouded the surface of the eyes, and in their +depths showed the hard, dangerous soul of the man. He spoke in a low, +deliberate voice. + +"Now just what in hell do you mean by that?" + +Grief casually relighted his cigar. + +"I don't know just how to begin," he said. "The situation is--er--is +embarrassing for you. You see, I'm trying to be fair. As I say, you've +worked hard. I don't want to confiscate the pearls. I want to pay you +for your time and trouble, and expense." + +Conviction, instantaneous and absolute, froze on the other's face. + +"And I thought you were in Europe," he muttered. Hope flickered for +a moment. "Look here, you're joking me. How do I know you're Swithin +Hall?" + +Grief shrugged his shoulders. "Such a joke would be in poor taste, after +your hospitality. And it is equally in poor taste to have two Swithin +Halls on the island." + +"Since you're Swithin Hall, then who the deuce am I? Do you know that, +too?" + +"No," Grief answered airily. "But I'd like to know." + +"Well, it's none of your business." + +"I grant it. Your identity is beside the point. Besides, I know your +schooner, and I can find out who you are from that." + +"What's her name?" + +"The _Emily L._ + +"Correct. I'm Captain Raffy, owner and master." + +"The seal-poacher? I've heard of you. What under the sun brought you +down here on my preserves?" + +"Needed the money. The seal herds are about finished." + +"And the out-of-the-way places of the world are better policed, eh?" + +"Pretty close to it. And now about this present scrape, Mr. Hall. I can +put up a nasty fight. What are you going to do about it?" + +"What I said. Even better. What's the _Emily L._ worth?" + +"She's seen her day. Not above ten thousand, which would be robbery. +Every time she's in a rough sea I'm afraid she'll jump her ballast +through her planking." + +"She has jumped it, Captain Raffy. I sighted her bottom-up after the +blow. Suppose we say she was worth seven thousand five hundred. I'll +pay over to you fifteen thousand and give you a passage. Don't move your +hands from your lap." Grief stood up, went over to him, and took his +revolver. "Just a necessary precaution, Captain. Now you'll go on board +with me. I'll break the news to Mrs. Raffy afterward, and fetch her out +to join you." + +"You're behaving handsomely, Mr. Hall, I must say," Captain Raffy +volunteered, as the whaleboat came alongside the _Uncle Toby_. "But +watch out for Gorman and Watson. They're ugly customers. And, by the +way, I don't like to mention it, but you've seen my wife. I've given her +four or five pearls. Watson and Gorman were willing." + +"Say no more, Captain. Say no more. They shall remain hers. Is that you, +Mr. Snow? Here's a friend I want you to take charge of--Captain Raffy. +I'm going ashore for his wife." + + + + +VIII + +David Grief sat writing at the library table in the bungalow +living-room. Outside, the first pale of dawn was showing. He had had a +busy night. Mrs. Raffy had taken two hysterical hours to pack her and +Captain Raffy's possessions. Gorman had been caught asleep, but Watson, +standing guard over the divers, had shown fight. Matters did not reach +the shooting stage, but it was only after it had been demonstrated to +him that the game was up that he consented to join his companions on +board. For temporary convenience, he and Gorman were shackled in the +mate's room, Mrs. Raffy was confined in Grief's, and Captain Raffy made +fast to the cabin table. + +Grief finished the document and read over what he had written: + + To Swithin Hall, + for pearls taken from his lagoon (estimated) $100,000 + + To Herbert Snow, paid in full for salvage from + steamship Cascade in pearls (estimated) $60,000 + + To Captain Raffy, salary and expenses for + collecting pearls 7,500 + + To Captain Raffy, reimbursement for + schooner Emily L., lost in hurricane 7,500 + + To Mrs. Raffy, for good will, five fair + pearls (estimated) 1,100 + + To passage to Syndey, four persons, + at $120. 480 + + To white lead for painting Swithin + Hall's two whaleboats 9 + + To Swithin Hall, balance in pearls (estimated) + which are to be found in drawer of library table 23,411 + + $100,000--$100,000 + +Grief signed and dated, paused, and added at the bottom: + + _P. S.--Still owing to Swithin Hall three books, borrowed + from library: Hudson's "Law of Psychic Phenomena," Zola's + "Paris," and Mahan's "Problem of Asia." These books, or full + value, can be collected of said David Griefs Sydney office_. + +He shut off the electric light, picked up the bundle of books, carefully +latched the front door, and went down to the waiting whaleboat. + + + + +Chapter Six--A GOBOTO NIGHT + + + + +I + +At Goboto the traders come off their schooners and the planters drift +in from far, wild coasts, and one and all they assume shoes, white duck +trousers, and various other appearances of civilization. At Goboto mail +is received, bills are paid, and newspapers, rarely more than five weeks +old, are accessible; for the little island, belted with its coral reefs, +affords safe anchorage, is the steamer port of call, and serves as the +distributing point for the whole wide-scattered group. + +Life at Goboto is heated, unhealthy, and lurid, and for its size it +asserts the distinction of more cases of acute alcoholism than any other +spot in the world. Guvutu, over in the Solomons, claims that it drinks +between drinks. Goboto does not deny this. It merely states, in passing, +that in the Goboton chronology no such interval of time is known. It +also points out its import statistics, which show a far larger per +capita consumption of spiritous liquors. Guvutu explains this on the +basis that Goboto does a larger business and has more visitors. Goboto +retorts that its resident population is smaller and that its visitors +are thirstier. And the discussion goes on interminably, principally +because of the fact that the disputants do not live long enough to +settle it. + +Goboto is not large. The island is only a quarter of a mile in diameter, +and on it are situated an admiralty coal-shed (where a few tons of coal +have lain untouched for twenty years), the barracks for a handful of +black labourers, a big store and warehouse with sheet-iron roofs, and a +bungalow inhabited by the manager and his two clerks. They are the white +population. An average of one man out of the three is always to be found +down with fever. The job at Goboto is a hard one. It is the policy of +the company to treat its patrons well, as invading companies have found +out, and it is the task of the manager and clerks to do the treating. +Throughout the year traders and recruiters arrive from far, dry cruises, +and planters from equally distant and dry shores, bringing with them +magnificent thirsts. Goboto is the mecca of sprees, and when they have +spread they go back to their schooners and plantations to recuperate. + +Some of the less hardy require as much as six months between visits. But +for the manager and his assistants there are no such intervals. They are +on the spot, and week by week, blown in by monsoon or southeast +trade, the schooners come to anchor, cargo'd with copra, ivory nuts, +pearl-shell, hawksbill turtle, and thirst. + +It is a very hard job at Goboto. That is why the pay is twice that on +other stations, and that is why the company selects only courageous and +intrepid men for this particular station. They last no more than a year +or so, when the wreckage of them is shipped back to Australia, or the +remains of them are buried in the sand across on the windward side of +the islet. Johnny Bassett, almost the legendary hero of Goboto, broke +all records. He was a remittance man with a remarkable constitution, +and he lasted seven years. His dying request was duly observed by his +clerks, who pickled him in a cask of trade-rum (paid for out of +their own salaries) and shipped him back to his people in England. +Nevertheless, at Goboto, they tried to be gentlemen. For that matter, +though something was wrong with them, they were gentlemen, and had been +gentlemen. That was why the great unwritten rule of Goboto was that +visitors should put on pants and shoes. Breech-clouts, lava-lavas, and +bare legs were not tolerated. When Captain Jensen, the wildest of the +Blackbirders though descended from old New York Knickerbocker stock, +surged in, clad in loin-cloth, undershirt, two belted revolvers and +a sheath-knife, he was stopped at the beach. This was in the days of +Johnny Bassett, ever a stickler in matters of etiquette. Captain Jensen +stood up in the sternsheets of his whaleboat and denied the existence of +pants on his schooner. Also, he affirmed his intention of coming ashore. +They of Goboto nursed him back to health from a bullet-hole through his +shoulder, and in addition handsomely begged his pardon, for no pants +had they found on his schooner. And finally, on the first day he sat up, +Johnny Bassett kindly but firmly assisted his guest into a pair of pants +of his own. This was the great precedent. In all the succeeding years it +had never been violated. White men and pants were undivorce-able. Only +niggers ran naked. Pants constituted caste. + + + + +II + +On this night things were, with one exception, in nowise different from +any other night. Seven of them, with glimmering eyes and steady legs, +had capped a day of Scotch with swivel-sticked cocktails and sat down to +dinner. Jacketed, trousered, and shod, they were: Jerry McMurtrey, the +manager; Eddy Little and Jack Andrews, clerks; Captain Stapler, of the +recruiting ketch _Merry_; Darby Shryleton, planter from Tito-Ito; Peter +Gee, a half-caste Chinese pearl-buyer who ranged from Ceylon to the +Paumotus, and Alfred Deacon, a visitor who had stopped off from the last +steamer. At first wine was served by the black servants to those that +drank it, though all quickly shifted back to Scotch and soda, pickling +their food as they ate it, ere it went into their calcined, pickled +stomachs. + +Over their coffee, they heard the rumble of an anchor-chain through a +hawse-pipe, tokening the arrival of a vessel. + +"It's David Grief," Peter Gee remarked. + +"How do you know?" Deacon demanded truculently, and then went on to deny +the half-caste's knowledge. "You chaps put on a lot of side over a new +chum. I've done some sailing myself, and this naming a craft when +its sail is only a blur, or naming a man by the sound of his +anchor--it's--it's unadulterated poppycock." + +Peter Gee was engaged in lighting a cigarette, and did not answer. + +"Some of the niggers do amazing things that way," McMurtrey interposed +tactfully. + +As with the others, this conduct of their visitor jarred on the manager. +From the moment of Peter Gee's arrival that afternoon Deacon had +manifested a tendency to pick on him. He had disputed his statements and +been generally rude. + +"Maybe it's because Peter's got Chink blood in him," had been Andrews' +hypothesis. "Deacon's Australian, you know, and they're daffy down there +on colour." + +"I fancy that's it," McMurtrey had agreed. "But we can't permit any +bullying, especially of a man like Peter Gee, who's whiter than most +white men." + +In this the manager had been in nowise wrong. Peter Gee was that rare +creature, a good as well as clever Eurasian. In fact, it was the +stolid integrity of the Chinese blood that toned the recklessness and +licentiousness of the English blood which had run in his father's veins. +Also, he was better educated than any man there, spoke better English +as well as several other tongues, and knew and lived more of their own +ideals of gentlemanness than they did themselves. And, finally, he was +a gentle soul. Violence he deprecated, though he had killed men in his +time. Turbulence he abhorred. + +He always avoided it as he would the plague. + +Captain Stapler stepped in to help McMurtrey: + +"I remember, when I changed schooners and came into Altman, the niggers +knew right off the bat it was me. I wasn't expected, either, much less +to be in another craft. They told the trader it was me. He used the +glasses, and wouldn't believe them. But they did know. Told me afterward +they could see it sticking out all over the schooner that I was running +her." + +Deacon ignored him, and returned to the attack on the pearl-buyer. + +"How do you know from the sound of the anchor that it was this +whatever-you-called-him man?" he challenged. + +"There are so many things that go to make up such a judgment," Peter +Gee answered. "It's very hard to explain. It would require almost a text +book." + +"I thought so," Deacon sneered. "Explanation that doesn't explain is +easy." + +"Who's for bridge?" Eddy Little, the second clerk, interrupted, looking +up expectantly and starting to shuffle. "You'll play, won't you, Peter?" + +"If he does, he's a bluffer," Deacon cut back. "I'm getting tired of all +this poppycock. Mr. Gee, you will favour me and put yourself in a +better light if you tell how you know who that man was that just dropped +anchor. After that I'll play you piquet." + +"I'd prefer bridge," Peter answered. "As for the other thing, +it's something like this: By the sound it was a small craft--no +square-rigger. No whistle, no siren, was blown--again a small craft. It +anchored close in--still again a small craft, for steamers and big ships +must drop hook outside the middle shoal. Now the entrance is tortuous. +There is no recruiting nor trading captain in the group who dares to run +the passage after dark. Certainly no stranger would. There _were_ two +exceptions. The first was Margonville. But he was executed by the High +Court at Fiji. Remains the other exception, David Grief. Night or +day, in any weather, he runs the passage. This is well known to all. A +possible factor, in case Grief were somewhere else, would be some young +dare-devil of a skipper. In this connection, in the first place, I don't +know of any, nor does anybody else. In the second place, David Grief is +in these waters, cruising on the _Gunga_, which is shortly scheduled to +leave here for Karo-Karo. I spoke to Grief, on the _Gunga_, in Sandfly +Passage, day before yesterday. He was putting a trader ashore on a new +station. He said he was going to call in at Babo, and then come on to +Goboto. He has had ample time to get here. I have heard an anchor drop. +Who else than David Grief can it be? Captain Donovan is skipper of the +_Gunga_, and him I know too well to believe that he'd run in to Goboto +after dark unless his owner were in charge. In a few minutes David +Grief will enter through that door and say, 'In Guvutu they merely drink +between drinks.' I'll wager fifty pounds he's the man that enters and +that his words will be, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks. '" +Deacon was for the moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in his +face. + +"Well, he's answered you," McMurtrey laughed genially. "And I'll back +his bet myself for a couple of sovereigns." + +"Bridge! Who's going to take a hand?" Eddy Little cried impatiently. +"Come on, Peter!" + +"The rest of you play," Deacon said. "He and I are going to play +piquet." + +"I'd prefer bridge," Peter Gee said mildly. + +"Don't you play piquet?" + +The pearl-buyer nodded. + +"Then come on. Maybe I can show I know more about that than I do about +anchors." + +"Oh, I say----" McMurtrey began. + +"You can play bridge," Deacon shut him off. "We prefer piquet." + +Reluctantly, Peter Gee was bullied into a game that he knew would be +unhappy. + +"Only a rubber," he said, as he cut for deal. + +"For how much?" Deacon asked. + +Peter Gee shrugged his shoulders. "As you please." + +"Hundred up--five pounds a game?" + +Peter Gee agreed. + +"With the lurch double, of course, ten pounds?" + +"All right," said Peter Gee. + +At another table four of the others sat in at bridge. Captain Stapler, +who was no card-player, looked on and replenished the long glasses +of Scotch that stood at each man's right hand. McMurtrey, with poorly +concealed apprehension, followed as well as he could what went on at +the piquet table. His fellow Englishmen as well were shocked by the +behaviour of the Australian, and all were troubled by fear of some +untoward act on his part. That he was working up his animosity against +the half-caste, and that the explosion might come any time, was apparent +to all. + +"I hope Peter loses," McMurtrey said in an undertone. + +"Not if he has any luck," Andrews answered. "He's a wizard at piquet. I +know by experience." + +That Peter Gee was lucky was patent from the continual badgering of +Deacon, who filled his glass frequently. He had lost the first game, +and, from his remarks, was losing the second, when the door opened and +David Grief entered. + +"In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks," he remarked casually to +the assembled company, ere he gripped the manager's hand. "Hello, Mac! +Say, my skipper's down in the whaleboat. He's got a silk shirt, a tie, +and tennis shoes, all complete, but he wants you to send a pair of pants +down. Mine are too small, but yours will fit him. Hello, Eddy! How's +that _ngari-ngari?_ You up, Jock? The miracle has happened. No one down +with fever, and no one remarkably drunk." He sighed, "I suppose the +night is young yet. Hello, Peter! Did you catch that big squall an hour +after you left us? We had to let go the second anchor." + +While he was being introduced to Deacon, McMurtrey dispatched a +house-boy with the pants, and when Captain Donovan came in it was as a +white man should--at least in Goboto. + +Deacon lost the second game, and an outburst heralded the fact. Peter +Gee devoted himself to lighting a cigarette and keeping quiet. + +"What?--are you quitting because you're ahead?" Deacon demanded. + +Grief raised his eyebrows questioningly to McMurtrey, who frowned back +his own disgust. + +"It's the rubber," Peter Gee answered. + +"It takes three games to make a rubber. It's my deal. Come on!" + +Peter Gee acquiesced, and the third game was on. + +"Young whelp--he needs a lacing," McMurtrey muttered to Grief. "Come on, +let us quit, you chaps. I want to keep an eye on him. If he goes too far +I'll throw him out on the beach, company instructions or no." + +"Who is he?" Grief queried. + +"A left-over from last steamer. Company's orders to treat him nice. He's +looking to invest in a plantation. Has a ten-thousand-pound letter of +credit with the company. He's got 'all-white Australia' on the brain. +Thinks because his skin is white and because his father was once +Attorney-General of the Commonwealth that he can be a cur. That's why +he's picking on Peter, and you know Peter's the last man in the world +to make trouble or incur trouble. Damn the company. I didn't engage +to wet-nurse its infants with bank accounts. Come on, fill your glass, +Grief. The man's a blighter, a blithering blighter." + +"Maybe he's only young," Grief suggested. + +"He can't contain his drink--that's clear." The manager glared his +disgust and wrath. "If he raises a hand to Peter, so help me, I'll give +him a licking myself, the little overgrown cad!" + +The pearl-buyer pulled the pegs out of the cribbage board on which he +was scoring and sat back. He had won the third game. He glanced across +to Eddy Little, saying: + +"I'm ready for the bridge, now." + +"I wouldn't be a quitter," Deacon snarled. + +"Oh, really, I'm tired of the game," Peter Gee assured him with his +habitual quietness. + +"Come on and be game," Deacon bullied. "One more. You can't take my +money that way. I'm out fifteen pounds. Double or quits." + +McMurtrey was about to interpose, but Grief restrained him with his +eyes. + +"If it positively is the last, all right," said Peter Gee, gathering up +the cards. "It's my deal, I believe. As I understand it, this final is +for fifteen pounds. Either you owe me thirty or we quit even?" + +"That's it, chappie. Either we break even or I pay you thirty." + +"Getting blooded, eh?" Grief remarked, drawing up a chair. + +The other men stood or sat around the table, and Deacon played again +in bad luck. That he was a good player was clear. The cards were merely +running against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimity +was equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snapped +and growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Gee +counted out, while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. He +glowered speechlessly at his opponent. + +"Looks like a lurch," said Grief. + +"Which is double," said Peter Gee. + +"There's no need your telling me," Deacon snarled. "I've studied +arithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!" + +The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table was +an insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals of +resentment. + +"You've got fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you that +much," Deacon went on. "I could teach you cards." + +The half-caste smiled and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money. + +"There's a little game called casino--I wonder if you ever heard of +it?--a child's game." + +"I've seen it played," the half-caste murmured gently. + +"What's that?" snapped Deacon. "Maybe you think you can play it?" + +"Oh, no, not for a moment. I'm afraid I haven't head enough for it." + +"It's a bully game, casino," Grief broke in pleasantly. "I like it very +much." + +Deacon ignored him. + +"I'll play you ten quid a game--thirty-one points out," was the +challenge to Peter Gee. "And I'll show you how little you know about +cards. Come on! Where's a full deck?" + +"No, thanks," the half-caste answered. "They are waiting for me in order +to make up a bridge set." + +"Yes, come on," Eddy Little begged eagerly. "Come on, Peter, let's get +started." + +"Afraid of a little game like casino," Deacon girded. "Maybe the stakes +are too high. I'll play you for pennies--or farthings, if you say so." + +The man's conduct was a hurt and an affront to all of them. McMurtrey +could stand it no longer. + +"Now hold on, Deacon. He says he doesn't want to play. Let him alone." + +Deacon turned raging upon his host; but before he could blurt out his +abuse, Grief had stepped into the breach. + +"I'd like to play casino with you," he said. + +"What do you know about it?" + +"Not much, but I'm willing to learn." + +"Well, I'm not teaching for pennies to-night." + +"Oh, that's all right," Grief answered. "I'll play for almost any +sum--within reason, of course." + +Deacon proceeded to dispose of this intruder with one stroke. + +"I'll play you a hundred pounds a game, if that will do you any good." + +Grief beamed his delight. "That will be all right, very right. Let us +begin. Do you count sweeps?" + +Deacon was taken aback. He had not expected a Goboton trader to be +anything but crushed by such a proposition. + +"Do you count sweeps?" Grief repeated. + +Andrews had brought him a new deck, and he was throwing out the joker. + +"Certainly not," Deacon answered. "That's a sissy game." + +"I'm glad," Grief coincided. "I don't like sissy games either." + +"You don't, eh? Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll play for +five hundred pounds a game." + +Again Deacon was taken aback. + +"I'm agreeable," Grief said, beginning to shuffle. "Cards and spades go +out first, of course, and then big and little casino, and the aces in +the bridge order of value. Is that right?" + +"You're a lot of jokers down here," Deacon laughed, but his laughter was +strained. "How do I know you've got the money?" + +"By the same token I know you've got it. Mac, how's my credit with the +company?" + +"For all you want," the manager answered. + +"You personally guarantee that?" Deacon demanded. + +"I certainly do," McMurtrey said. "Depend upon it, the company will +honour his paper up and past your letter of credit." + +"Low deals," Grief said, placing the deck before Deacon on the table. + +The latter hesitated in the midst of the cut and looked around with +querulous misgiving at the faces of the others. The clerks and captains +nodded. + +"You're all strangers to me," Deacon complained. "How am I to know? +Money on paper isn't always the real thing." + +Then it was that Peter Gee, drawing a wallet from his pocket and +borrowing a fountain pen from McMurtrey, went into action. + +"I haven't gone to buying yet," the half-caste explained, "so the +account is intact. I'll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It's for +fifteen thousand. There, look at it." + +Deacon intercepted the letter of credit as it was being passed across +the table. He read it slowly, then glanced up at McMurtrey. + +"Is that right?" + +"Yes. It's just the same as your own, and just as good. The company's +paper is always good." + +Deacon cut the cards, won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle. +But his luck was still against him, and he lost the game. + +"Another game," he said. "We didn't say how many, and you can't quit +with me a loser. I want action." + +Grief shuffled and passed the cards for the cut. + +"Let's play for a thousand," Deacon said, when he had lost the second +game. And when the thousand had gone the way of the two five hundred +bets he proposed to play for two thousand. + +"That's progression," McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glare +from Deacon. But the manager was insistent. "You don't have to play +progression, Grief, unless you're foolish." + +"Who's playing this game?" Deacon flamed at his host; and then, to +Grief: "I've lost two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?" + +Grief nodded, the fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifest +unfairness of such betting was known to all of them. Though he had lost +three games out of four, Deacon had lost no money. By the child's device +of doubling his wager with each loss, he was bound, with the first game +he won, no matter how long delayed, to be even again. + +He now evinced an unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck to +be cut. + +"What?" Deacon cried. "You want more?" + +"Haven't got anything yet," Grief murmured whimsically, as he began the +deal. "For the usual five hundred, I suppose?" + +The shame of what he had done must have tingled in Deacon, for he +answered, "No, we'll play for a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points is +too long. Why not twenty-one points out--if it isn't too rapid for you?" + +"That will make it a nice, quick, little game," Grief agreed. + +The former method of play was repeated. Deacon lost two games, doubled +the stake, and was again even. But Grief was patient, though the thing +occurred several times in the next hour's play. Then happened what he +was waiting for--a lengthening in the series of losing games for Deacon. +The latter doubled to four thousand and lost, doubled to eight thousand +and lost, and then proposed to double to sixteen thousand. + +Grief shook his head. "You can't do that, you know. You're only ten +thousand credit with the company." + +"You mean you won't give me action?" Deacon asked hoarsely. "You mean +that with eight thousand of my money you're going to quit?" + +Grief smiled and shook his head. + +"It's robbery, plain robbery," Deacon went on. "You take my money and +won't give me action." + +"No, you're wrong. I'm perfectly willing to give you what action you've +got coming to you. You've got two thousand pounds of action yet." + +"Well, we'll play it," Deacon took him up. "You cut." + +The game was played in silence, save for irritable remarks and curses +from Deacon. Silently the onlookers filled and sipped their long +Scotch glasses. Grief took no notice of his opponent's outbursts, but +concentrated on the game. He was really playing cards, and there were +fifty-two in the deck to be kept track of, and of which he did keep +track. Two thirds of the way through the last deal he threw down his +hand. + +"Cards put me out," he said. "I have twenty-seven." + +"If you've made a mistake," Deacon threatened, his face white and drawn. + +"Then I shall have lost. Count them." + +Grief passed over his stack of takings, and Deacon, with trembling +fingers, verified the count. He half shoved his chair back from the +table and emptied his glass. He looked about him at unsympathetic faces. + +"I fancy I'll be catching the next steamer for Sydney," he said, and for +the first time his speech was quiet and without bluster. + +As Grief told them afterward: "Had he whined or raised a roar I wouldn't +have given him that last chance. As it was, he took his medicine like a +man, and I had to do it." + +Deacon glanced at his watch, simulated a weary yawn, and started to +rise. + +"Wait," Grief said. "Do you want further action?" + +The other sank down in his chair, strove to speak, but could not, licked +his dry lips, and nodded his head. + +"Captain Donovan here sails at daylight in the _Gunga_ for Karo-Karo," +Grief began with seeming irrelevance. "Karo-Karo is a ring of sand in +the sea, with a few thousand cocoa-nut trees. Pandanus grows there, but +they can't grow sweet potatoes nor taro. There aremabout eight hundred +natives, a king and two prime ministers, and the last three named are +the only ones who wear any clothes. It's a sort of God-forsaken little +hole, and once a year I send a schooner up from Goboto. The drinking +water is brackish, but old Tom Butler has survived on it for a dozen +years. He's the only white man there, and he has a boat's crew of five +Santa Cruz boys who would run away or kill him if they could. That is +why they were sent there. They can't run away. He is always supplied +with the hard cases from the plantations. There are no missionaries. +Two native Samoan teachers were clubbed to death on the beach when they +landed several years ago. + +"Naturally, you are wondering what it is all about. But have patience. +As I have said, Captain Donovan sails on the annual trip to Karo-Karo at +daylight to-morrow. Tom Butler is old, and getting quite helpless. I've +tried to retire him to Australia, but he says he wants to remain and +die on Karo-Karo, and he will in the next year or so. He's a queer old +codger. Now the time is due for me to send some white man up to take the +work off his hands. I wonder how you'd like the job. You'd have to stay +two years. + +"Hold on! I've not finished. You've talked frequently of action this +evening. There's no action in betting away what you've never sweated +for. The money you've lost to me was left you by your father or some +other relative who did the sweating. But two years of work as trader on +Karo-Karo would mean something. I'll bet the ten thousand I've won from +you against two years of your time. If you win, the money's yours. If +you lose, you take the job at Karo-Karo and sail at daylight. Now that's +what might be called real action. Will you play?" + +Deacon could not speak. His throat lumped and he nodded his head as he +reached for the cards. + +"One thing more," Grief said. "I can do even better. If you lose, two +years of your time are mine--naturally without wages. Nevertheless, +I'll pay you wages. If your work is satisfactory, if you observe all +instructions and rules, I'll pay you five thousand pounds a year for two +years. The money will be deposited with the company, to be paid to you, +with interest, when the time expires. Is that all right?" + +"Too much so," Deacon stammered. "You are unfair to yourself. A trader +only gets ten or fifteen pounds a month." + +"Put it down to action, then," Grief said, with an air of dismissal. +"And before we begin, I'll jot down several of the rules. These you will +repeat aloud every morning during the two years--if you lose. They +are for the good of your soul. When you have repeated them aloud seven +hundred and thirty Karo-Karo mornings I am confident they will be in +your memory to stay. Lend me your pen, Mac. Now, let's see----" + +He wrote steadily and rapidly for some minutes, then proceeded to read +the matter aloud: + +"_I must always remember that one man is as good as another, save and +except when he thinks he is better._ + +"_No matter how drunk I am I must not fail to be a gentleman. A +gentleman is a man who is gentle. Note: It would be better not to get +drunk_. + +"_When I play a man's game with men, I must play like a man_. + +"_A good curse, rightly used and rarely, is an efficient thing. Too many +curses spoil the cursing. Note: A curse cannot change a card seguence +nor cause the wind to blow._ + +"_There is no license for a man to be less than a man. Ten thousand +pounds cannot purchase such a license._" + +At the beginning of the reading Deacon's face had gone white with anger. +Then had arisen, from neck to forehead, a slow and terrible flush that +deepened to the end of the reading. + +"There, that will be all," Grief said, as he folded the paper and tossed +it to the centre of the table. "Are you still ready to play the game?" + +"I deserve it," Deacon muttered brokenly. "I've been an ass. Mr. Gee, +before I know whether I win or lose, I want to apologize. Maybe it was +the whiskey, I don't know, but I'm an ass, a cad, a bounder--everything +that's rotten." + +He held out his hand, and the half-caste took it beamingly. + +"I say, Grief," he blurted out, "the boy's all right. Call the whole +thing off, and let's forget it in a final nightcap." + +Grief showed signs of debating, but Deacon cried: + +"No; I won't permit it. I'm not a quitter. If it's Karo-Karo, it's +Karo-Karo. There's nothing more to it." + +"Right," said Grief, as he began the shuffle. "If he's the right stuff +to go to Karo-Karo, Karo-Karo won't do him any harm." + +The game was close and hard. Three times they divided the deck between +them and "cards" was not scored. At the beginning of the fifth and +last deal, Deacon needed three points to go out, and Grief needed four. +"Cards" alone would put Deacon out, and he played for "cards". He no +longer muttered or cursed, and played his best game of the evening. +Incidentally he gathered in the two black aces and the ace of hearts. + +"I suppose you can name the four cards I hold," he challenged, as the +last of the deal was exhausted and he picked up his hand. + +Grief nodded. + +"Then name them." + +"The knave of spades, the deuce of spades, the tray of hearts, and the +ace of diamonds," Grief answered. + +Those behind Deacon and looking at his hand made no sign. Yet the naming +had been correct. + +"I fancy you play casino better than I," Deacon acknowledged. "I can +name only three of yours, a knave, an ace, and big casino." + +"Wrong. There aren't five aces in the deck. You've taken in three and +you hold the fourth in your hand now." + +"By Jove, you're right," Deacon admitted. "I did scoop in three. Anyway, +I'll make 'cards' on you. That's all I need." + +"I'll let you save little casino----" Grief paused to calculate. "Yes, +and the ace as well, and still I'll make 'cards' and go out with big +casino. Play." + +"No 'cards' and I win!" Deacon exulted as the last of the hand was +played. "I go out on little casino and the four aces. 'Big casino' and +'spades' only bring you to twenty." + +Grief shook his head. "Some mistake, I'm afraid." + +"No," Deacon declared positively. "I counted every card I took in. +That's the one thing I was correct on. I've twenty-six, and you've +twenty-six." + +"Count again," Grief said. + +Carefully and slowly, with trembling fingers, Deacon counted the cards +he had taken. There were twenty-five. He reached over to the corner of +the table, took up the rules Grief had written, folded them, and put +them in his pocket. Then he emptied his glass, and stood up. Captain +Donovan looked at his watch, yawned, and also arose. + +"Going aboard, Captain?" Deacon asked. + +"Yes," was the answer. "What time shall I send the whaleboat for you?" + +"I'll go with you now. We'll pick up my luggage from the _Billy_ as we +go by, I was sailing on her for Babo in the morning." + +Deacon shook hands all around, after receiving a final pledge of good +luck on Karo-Karo. + +"Does Tom Butler play cards?" he asked Grief. + +"Solitaire," was the answer. + +"Then I'll teach him double solitaire." Deacon turned toward the door, +where Captain Donovan waited, and added with a sigh, "And I fancy he'll +skin me, too, if he plays like the rest of you island men." + + + + + +Chapter Seven--THE FEATHERS OF THE SUN + + + + +I + +It was the island of Fitu-Iva--the last independent Polynesian +stronghold in the South Seas. Three factors conduced to Fitu-Iva's +independence. The first and second were its isolation and the +warlikeness of its population. But these would not have saved it in +the end had it not been for the fact that Japan, France, Great +Britain, Germany, and the United States discovered its desirableness +simultaneously. It was like gamins scrambling for a penny. They got +in one another's way. The war vessels of the five Powers cluttered +Fitu-Iva's one small harbour. There were rumours of war and threats of +war. Over its morning toast all the world read columns about Fitu-Iva. +As a Yankee blue jacket epitomized it at the time, they all got their +feet in the trough at once. + +So it was that Fitu-Iva escaped even a joint protectorate, and King +Tulifau, otherwise Tui Tulifau, continued to dispense the high justice +and the low in the frame-house palace built for him by a Sydney trader +out of California redwood. Not only was Tui Tulifau every inch a king, +but he was every second a king. When he had ruled fifty-eight years and +five months, he was only fifty-eight years and three months old. That +is to say, he had ruled over five million seconds more than he had +breathed, having been crowned two months before he was born. + +He was a kingly king, a royal figure of a man, standing six feet and +a half, and, without being excessively fat, weighing three hundred and +twenty pounds. But this was not unusual for Polynesian "chief stock." +Sepeli, his queen, was six feet three inches and weighed two hundred +and sixty, while her brother, Uiliami, who commanded the army in the +intervals of resignation from the premiership, topped her by an inch and +notched her an even half-hundredweight. Tui Tulifau was a merry soul, a +great feaster and drinker. So were all his people merry souls, save in +anger, when, on occasion, they could be guilty even of throwing dead +pigs at those who made them wroth. Nevertheless, on occasion, they could +fight like Maoris, as piratical sandalwood traders and Blackbirders in +the old days learned to their cost. + + + + +II + +Grief's schooner, the _Cantani_, had passed the Pillar Rocks at the +entrance two hours before and crept up the harbour to the whispering +flutters of a breeze that could not make up its mind to blow. It was +a cool, starlight evening, and they lolled about the poop waiting till +their snail's pace would bring them to the anchorage. Willie Smee, the +supercargo, emerged from the cabin, conspicuous in his shore clothes. +The mate glanced at his shirt, of the finest and whitest silk, and +giggled significantly. + +"Dance, to-night, I suppose?" Grief observed. + +"No," said the mate. "It's Taitua. Willie's stuck on her." + +"Catch me," the supercargo disclaimed. + +"Then she's stuck on you, and it's all the same," the mate went on. "You +won't be ashore half an hour before you'll have a flower behind your +ear, a wreath on your head, and your arm around Taitua." + +"Simple jealousy," Willie Smee sniffed. "You'd like to have her +yourself, only you can't." + +"I can't find shirts like that, that's why. I'll bet you half a crown +you won't sail from Fitu-Iva with that shirt." + +"And if Taitua doesn't get it, it's an even break Tui Tulifau does," +Grief warned. "Better not let him spot that shirt, or it's all day with +it." + +"That's right," Captain Boig agreed, turning his head from watching the +house lights on the shore. "Last voyage he fined one of my Kanakas out +of a fancy belt and sheath-knife." He turned to the mate. "You can let +go any time, Mr. Marsh. Don't give too much slack. There's no sign of +wind, and in the morning we may shift opposite the copra-sheds." + +A minute later the anchor rumbled down. The whaleboat, already hoisted +out, lay alongside, and the shore-going party dropped into it. Save for +the Kanakas, who were all bent for shore, only Grief and the supercargo +were in the boat. At the head of the little coral-stone pier Willie +Smee, with an apologetic gurgle, separated from his employer and +disappeared down an avenue of palms. Grief turned in the opposite +direction past the front of the old mission church. Here, among +the graves on the beach, lightly clad in _ahu's_ and _lava-lavas_, +flower-crowned and garlanded, with great phosphorescent hibiscus +blossoms in their hair, youths and maidens were dancing. Farther on, +Grief passed the long, grass-built _himine_ house, where a few score +of the elders sat in long rows chanting the old hymns taught them by +forgotten missionaries. He passed also the palace of Tui Tulifau, where, +by the lights and sounds, he knew the customary revelry was going +on. For of the happy South Sea isles, Fitu-Iva was the happiest. They +feasted and frolicked at births and deaths, and the dead and the unborn +were likewise feasted. + +Grief held steadily along the Broom Road, which curved and twisted +through a lush growth of flowers and fern-like algarobas. The warm air +was rich with perfume, and overhead, outlined against the stars, were +fruit-burdened mangoes, stately avocado trees, and slender-tufted palms. +Every here and there were grass houses. Voices and laughter rippled +through the darkness. Out on the water flickering lights and soft-voiced +choruses marked the fishers returning from the reef. + +At last Grief stepped aside from the road, stumbling over a pig that +grunted indignantly. Looking through an open door, he saw a stout and +elderly native sitting on a heap of mats a dozen deep. From time to +time, automatically, he brushed his naked legs with a cocoa-nut-fibre +fly-flicker. He wore glasses, and was reading methodically in what Grief +knew to be an English Bible. For this was Ieremia, his trader, so named +from the prophet Jeremiah. + +Ieremia was lighter-skinned than the Fitu-Ivans, as was natural in a +full-blooded Samoan. Educated by the missionaries, as lay teacher he had +served their cause well over in the cannibal atolls to the westward. As +a reward, he had been sent to the paradise of Fitu-Iva, where all were +or had been good converts, to gather in the backsliders. Unfortunately, +Ieremia had become too well educated. A stray volume of Darwin, a +nagging wife, and a pretty Fitu-Ivan widow had driven him into the ranks +of the backsliders. It was not a case of apostasy. The effect of Darwin +had been one of intellectual fatigue. What was the use of trying to +understand this vastly complicated and enigmatical world, especially +when one was married to a nagging woman? As Ieremia slackened in his +labours, the mission board threatened louder and louder to send him back +to the atolls, while his wife's tongue grew correspondingly sharper. Tui +Tulifau was a sympathetic monarch, whose queen, on occasions when he was +particularly drunk, was known to beat him. For political reasons--the +queen belonging to as royal stock as himself and her brother commanding +the army--Tui Tulifau could not divorce her, but he could and did +divorce Ieremia, who promptly took up with commercial life and the lady +of his choice. As an independent trader he had failed, chiefly because +of the disastrous patronage of Tui Tulifau. To refuse credit to that +merry monarch was to invite confiscation; to grant him credit was +certain bankruptcy. After a year's idleness on the beach, leremia had +become David Grief's trader, and for a dozen years his service had +been honourable and efficient, for Grief had proven the first man who +successfully refused credit to the king or who collected when it had +been accorded. + +Ieremia looked gravely over the rims of his glasses when his employer +entered, gravely marked the place in the Bible and set it aside, and +gravely shook hands. + +"I am glad you came in person," he said. + +"How else could I come?" Grief laughed. + +But Ieremia had no sense of humour, and he ignored the remark. + +"The commercial situation on the island is damn bad," he said with great +solemnity and an unctuous mouthing of the many-syllabled words. "My +ledger account is shocking." + +"Trade bad?" + +"On the contrary. It has been excellent. The shelves are empty, +exceedingly empty. But----" His eyes glistened proudly. "But there are +many goods remaining in the storehouse; I have kept it carefully +locked." + +"Been allowing Tui Tulifau too much credit?" + +"On the contrary. There has been no credit at all. And every old account +has been settled up." + +"I don't follow you, Ieremia," Grief confessed. "What's the +joke?--shelves empty, no credit, old accounts all square, storehouse +carefully locked--what's the answer?" + +Ieremia did not reply immediately. Reaching under the rear corner of the +mats, he drew forth a large cash-box. Grief noted and wondered that +it was not locked. The Samoan had always been fastidiously cautious in +guarding cash. The box seemed filled with paper money. He skinned off +the top note and passed it over. + +"There is the answer." + +Grief glanced at a fairly well executed banknote. "_The First Royal Bank +of Fitu-Iva will pay to bearer on demand one pound sterling_," he read. +In the centre was the smudged likeness of a native face. At the bottom +was the signature of Tui Tulifau, and the signature of Fulualea, with +the printed information appended, "_Chancellor of the Exchequer._" + +"Who the deuce is Fulualea?" Grief demanded. "It's Fijian, isn't +it?--meaning the feathers of the sun?" + +"Just so. It means the feathers of the sun. Thus does this base +interloper caption himself. He has come up from Fiji to turn Fitu-Iva +upside down--that is, commercially." + +"Some one of those smart Levuka boys, I suppose?" + +Ieremia shook his head sadly. "No, this low fellow is a white man and +a scoundrel. He has taken a noble and high-sounding Fijian name and +dragged it in the dirt to suit his nefarious purposes. He has made Tui +Tulifau drunk. He has made him very drunk. He has kept him very drunk +all the time. In return, he has been made Chancellor of the Exchequer +and other things. He has issued this false paper and compelled the +people to receive it. He has levied a store tax, a copra tax, and a +tobacco tax. There are harbour dues and regulations, and other taxes. +But the people are not taxed--only the traders. When the copra tax was +levied, I lowered the purchasing price accordingly. Then the people +began to grumble, and Feathers of the Sun passed a new law, setting +the old price back and forbidding any man to lower it. Me he fined two +pounds and five pigs, it being well known that I possessed five pigs. +You will find them entered in the ledger. Hawkins, who is trader for +the Fulcrum Company, was fined first pigs, then gin, and, because he +continued to make loud conversation, the army came and burned his store. +When I declined to sell, this Feathers of the Sun fined me once more and +promised to burn the store if again I offended. So I sold all that was +on the shelves, and there is the box full of worthless paper. I shall +be chagrined if you pay me my salary in paper, but it would be just, no +more than just. Now, what is to be done?" + +Grief shrugged his shoulders. "I must first see this Feathers of the Sun +and size up the situation." + +"Then you must see him soon," Ieremia advised. "Else he will have an +accumulation of many fines against you. Thus does he absorb all the +coin of the realm. He has it all now, save what has been buried in the +ground." + + + + +III + +On his way back along the Broom Road, under the lighted lamps that +marked the entrance to the palace grounds, Grief encountered a short, +rotund gentleman, in unstarched ducks, smooth-shaven and of florid +complexion, who was just emerging. Something about his tentative, +saturated gait was familiar. Grief knew it on the instant. On the +beaches of a dozen South Sea ports had he seen it before. + +"Of all men, Cornelius Deasy!" he cried. + +"If it ain't Grief himself, the old devil," was the return greeting, as +they shook hands. + +"If you'll come on board I've some choice smoky Irish," Grief invited. + +Cornelius threw back his shoulders and stiffened. + +"Nothing doin', Mr. Grief. 'Tis Fulualea I am now. No blarneyin' of +old times for me. Also, and by the leave of his gracious Majesty King +Tulifau, 'tis Chancellor of the Exchequer I am, an' Chief Justice I am, +save in moments of royal sport when the king himself chooses to toy with +the wheels of justice." + +Grief whistled his amazement. "So you're Feathers of the Sun!" + +"I prefer the native idiom," was the correction. "Fulualea, an' it +please you. Not forgettin' old times, Mr. Grief, it sorrows the heart +of me to break you the news. You'll have to pay your legitimate import +duties same as any other trader with mind intent on robbin' the gentle +Polynesian savage on coral isles implanted. ----Where was I? Ah! I +remember. You've violated the regulations. With malice intent have you +entered the port of Fitu-Iva after sunset without sidelights burnin'. +Don't interrupt. With my own eyes did I see you. For which offence are +you fined the sum of five pounds. Have you any gin? 'Tis a serious +offence. Not lightly are the lives of the mariners of our commodious +port to be risked for the savin' of a penny'orth of oil. Did I ask: have +you any gin? Tis the harbour master that asks." + +"You've taken a lot on your shoulders," Grief grinned. + +"'Tis the white man's burden. These rapscallion traders have been +puttin' it all over poor Tui Tulif, the best-hearted old monarch +that ever sat a South Sea throne an' mopped grog-root from the imperial +calabash. 'Tis I, Cornelius--Fulualea, rather--that am here to see +justice done. Much as I dislike the doin' of it, as harbour master 'tis +my duty to find you guilty of breach of quarantine." + +"Quarantine?" + +"'Tis the rulin' of the port doctor. No intercourse with the shore till +the ship is passed. What dire calamity to the confidin' native if +chicken pox or whoopin' cough was aboard of you! Who is there to protect +the gentle, confidin' Polynesian? I, Fulualea, the Feathers of the Sun, +on my high mission." + +"Who in hell is the port doctor?" Grief queried. + +"'Tis me, Fulualea. Your offence is serious. Consider yourself fined +five cases of first-quality Holland gin." + +Grief laughed heartily. "We'll compromise, Cornelius. Come aboard and +have a drink." + +The Feathers of the Sun waved the proffer aside grandly. "'Tis bribery. +I'll have none of it--me faithful to my salt. And wherefore did you not +present your ship's papers? As chief of the custom house you are fined +five pounds and two more cases of gin." + +"Look here, Cornelius. A joke's a joke, but this one has gone far +enough. This is not Levuka. I've half a mind to pull your nose for you. +You can't buck me." + +The Feathers of the Sun retreated unsteadily and in alarm. + +"Lay no violence on me," he threatened. "You're right. This is not +Levuka. And by the same token, with Tui Tulifau and the royal army +behind me, buck you is just the thing I can and will. You'll pay them +fines promptly, or I'll confiscate your vessel. You're not the first. +What does that Chink pearl-buyer, Peter Gee, do but slip into harbour, +violatin' all regulations an' makin' rough house for the matter of a +few paltry fines. No; he wouldn't pay 'em, and he's on the beach now +thinkin' it over." + +"You don't mean to say----" + +"Sure an' I do. In the high exercise of office I seized his schooner. A +fifth of the loyal army is now in charge on board of her. She'll be sold +this day week. Some ten tons of shell in the hold, and I'm wonderin' +if I can trade it to you for gin. I can promise you a rare bargain. How +much gin did you say you had?" + +"Still more gin, eh?" + +"An' why not? 'Tis a royal souse is Tui Tulifau. Sure it keeps my wits +workin' overtime to supply him, he's that amazin' liberal with it. The +whole gang of hanger-on chiefs is perpetually loaded to the guards. It's +disgraceful. Are you goin' to pay them fines, Mr. Grief, or is it to +harsher measures I'll be forced?" + +Grief turned impatiently on his heel. + +"Cornelius, you're drunk. Think it over and come to your senses. The +old rollicking South Sea days are gone. You can't play tricks like that +now." + +"If you think you're goin' on board, Mr. Grief, I'll save you the +trouble. I know your kind, I foresaw your stiff-necked stubbornness. An' +it's forestalled you are. 'Tis on the beach you'll find your crew. The +vessel's seized." + +Grief turned back on him in the half-belief still that he was joking. +Fulualea again retreated in alarm. The form of a large man loomed beside +him in the darkness. + +"Is it you, Uiliami?" Fulualea crooned. "Here is another sea pirate. +Stand by me with the strength of thy arm, O Herculean brother." + +"Greeting, Uiliami," Grief said. "Since when has Fitu-Iva come to be +run by a Levuka beachcomber? He says my schooner has been seized. Is it +true?" + +"It is true," Uiliami boomed from his deep chest. "Have you any more +silk shirts like Willie Smee's? Tui Tulifau would like such a shirt. He +has heard of it." + +"'Tis all the same," Fulualea interrupted. "Shirts or schooners, the +king shall have them." + +"Rather high-handed, Cornelius," Grief murmured. "It's rank piracy. You +seized my vessel without giving me a chance." + +"A chance is it? As we stood here, not five minutes gone, didn't you +refuse to pay your fines?" + +"But she was already seized." + +"Sure, an' why not? Didn't I know you'd refuse? 'Tis all fair, an' no +injustice done--Justice, the bright, particular star at whose shining +altar Cornelius Deasy--or Fulualea, 'tis the same thing--ever worships. +Get thee gone, Mr. Trader, or I'll set the palace guards on you. +Uiliami, 'tis a desperate character, this trader man. Call the guards." + +Uiliami blew the whistle suspended on his broad bare chest by a cord +of cocoanut sennit. Grief reached out an angry hand for Cornelius, who +titubated into safety behind Uiliami's massive bulk. A dozen strapping +Polynesians, not one under six feet, ran down the palace walk and ranged +behind their commander. + +"Get thee gone, Mr. Trader," Cornelius ordered. "The interview is +terminated. We'll try your several cases in the mornin'. Appear promptly +at the palace at ten o'clock to answer to the followin' charges, to +wit: breach of the peace; seditious and treasonable utterance; violent +assault on the chief magistrate with intent to cut, wound, maim, an' +bruise; breach of quarantine; violation of harbour regulations; and +gross breakage of custom house rules. In the mornin', fellow, in the +mornin', justice shall be done while the breadfruit falls. And the Lord +have mercy on your soul." + + + + +III + +Before the hour set for the trial Grief, accompanied by Peter Gee, won +access to Tui Tulifau. The king, surrounded by half a dozen chiefs, lay +on mats under the shade of the avocados in the palace compound. Early +as was the hour, palace maids were industriously serving squarefaces of +gin. The king was glad to see his old friend Davida, and regretful +that he had run foul of the new regulations. Beyond that he steadfastly +avoided discussion of the matter in hand. All protests of the +expropriated traders were washed away in proffers of gin. "Have a +drink," was his invariable reply, though once he unbosomed himself +enough to say that Feathers of the Sun was a wonderful man. Never had +palace affairs been so prosperous. Never had there been so much money +in the treasury, nor so much gin in circulation. "Well pleased am I with +Fulualea," he concluded. "Have a drink." + +"We've got to get out of this _pronto_," Grief whispered to Peter Gee a +few minutes later, "or we'll be a pair of boiled owls. Also, I am to be +tried for arson, or heresy, or leprosy, or something, in a few minutes, +and I must control my wits." + +As they withdrew from the royal presence, Grief caught a glimpse of +Sepeli, the queen. She was peering out at her royal spouse and his +fellow tipplers, and the frown on her face gave Grief his cue. Whatever +was to be accomplished must be through her. + +In another shady corner of the big compound Cornelius was holding court. +He had been at it early, for when Grief arrived the case of Willie Smee +was being settled. The entire royal army, save that portion in charge of +the seized vessels, was in attendance. + +"Let the defendant stand up," said Cornelius, "and receive the just and +merciful sentence of the Court for licentious and disgraceful conduct +unbecomin' a supercargo. The defendant says he has no money. Very well. +The Court regrets it has no calaboose. In lieu thereof, and in view +of the impoverished condition of the defendant, the Court fines said +defendant one white silk shirt of the same kind, make and quality at +present worn by defendant." + +Cornelius nodded to several of the soldiers, who led the supercargo away +behind an avocado tree. A minute later he emerged, minus the garment in +question, and sat down beside Grief. + +"What have you been up to?" Grief asked. + +"Blessed if I know. What crimes have you committed?" + +"Next case," said Cornelius in his most extra-legal tones. "David Grief, +defendant, stand up. The Court has considered the evidence in the case, +or cases, and renders the following judgment, to wit:--Shut up!" he +thundered at Grief, who had attempted to interrupt. "I tell you the +evidence has been considered, deeply considered. It is no wish of the +Court to lay additional hardship on the defendant, and the Court takes +this opportunity to warn the defendant that he is liable for contempt. +For open and wanton violation of harbour rules and regulations, breach +of quarantine, and disregard of shipping laws, his schooner, the +_Cantani_, is hereby declared confiscated to the Government of +Fitu-Iva, to be sold at public auction, ten days from date, with +all appurtenances, fittings, and cargo thereunto pertaining. For the +personal crimes of the defendant, consisting of violent and turbulent +conduct and notorious disregard of the laws of the realm, he is fined in +the sum of one hundred pounds sterling and fifteen cases of gin. I will +not ask you if you have anything to say. But will you pay? That is the +question." + +Grief shook his head. + +"In the meantime," Cornelius went on, "consider yourself a prisoner at +large. There is no calaboose in which to confine you. And finally, it +has come to the knowledge of the Court, that at an early hour of this +morning, the defendant did wilfully and deliberately send Kanakas in his +employ out on the reef to catch fish for breakfast. This is distinctly +an infringement of the rights of the fisherfolk of Fitu-Iva. Home +industries must be protected. This conduct of the defendant is severely +reprehended by the Court, and on any repetition of the offence the +offender and offenders, all and sundry, shall be immediately put to hard +labour on the improvement of the Broom Road. The court is dismissed." + +As they left the compound, Peter Gee nudged Grief to look where Tui +Tulifau reclined on the mats. The supercargo's shirt, stretched and +bulged, already encased the royal fat. + + + + +IV + +"The thing is clear," said Peter Gee, at a conference in Ieremia's +house. "Deasy has about gathered in all the coin. In the meantime he +keeps the king going on the gin he's captured, on our vessels. As soon +as he can maneuver it he'll take the cash and skin out on your craft or +mine." + +"He is a low fellow," Ieremia declared, pausing in the polishing of his +spectacles. "He is a scoundrel and a blackguard. He should be struck by +a dead pig, by a particularly dead pig." + +"The very thing," said Grief. "He shall be struck by a dead pig. +Ieremia, I should not be surprised if you were the man to strike him +with the dead pig. Be sure and select a particularly dead one. Tui +Tulifau is down at the boat house broaching a case of my Scotch. I'm +going up to the palace to work kitchen politics with the queen. In the +meantime you get a few things on your shelves from the store-room. I'll +lend you some, Hawkins. And you, Peter, see the German store. Start in +all of you, selling for paper. Remember, I'll back the losses. If +I'm not mistaken, in three days we'll have a national council or a +revolution. You, Ieremia, start messengers around the island to the +fishers and farmers, everywhere, even to the mountain goat-hunters. Tell +them to assemble at the palace three days from now." + +"But the soldiers," Ieremia objected. + +"I'll take care of them. They haven't been paid for two months. Besides, +Uiliami is the queen's brother. Don't have too much on your shelves at a +time. As soon as the soldiers show up with paper, stop selling." + +"Then will they burn the stores," said Ieremia. + +"Let them. King Tulifau will pay for it if they do." + +"Will he pay for my shirt?" Willie Smee demanded. + +"That is purely a personal and private matter between you and Tui +Tulifau," Grief answered. + +"It's beginning to split up the back," the supercargo lamented. "I +noticed that much this morning when he hadn't had it on ten minutes. It +cost me thirty shillings and I only wore it once." + +"Where shall I get a dead pig?" Ieremia asked. + +"Kill one, of course," said Grief. "Kill a small one." + +"A small one is worth ten shillings." + +"Then enter it in your ledger under operating expenses." Grief paused a +moment. "If you want it particularly dead, it would be well to kill it +at once." + + + + +V + +"You have spoken well, Davida," said Queen Sepeli. "This Fulualea has +brought a madness with him, and Tui Tulifau is drowned in gin. If he +does not grant the big council, I shall give him a beating. He is easy +to beat when he is in drink." + +She doubled up her fist, and such were her Amazonian proportions and the +determination in her face that Grief knew the council would be called. +So akin was the Fitu-Ivan tongue to the Samoan that he spoke it like a +native. + +"And you, Uiliami," he said, "have pointed out that the soldiers have +demanded coin and refused the paper Fulualea has offered them. Tell them +to take the paper and see that they be paid to-morrow." + +"Why trouble?" Uiliami objected. "The king remains happily drunk. There +is much money in the treasury. And I am content. In my house are two +cases of gin and much goods from Hawkins's store." + +"Excellent pig, O my brother!" Sepeli erupted. "Has not Davida spoken? +Have you no ears? When the gin and the goods in your house are gone, and +no more traders come with gin and goods, and Feathers of the Sun has run +away to Levuka with all the cash money of Fitu-Iva, what then will you +do? Cash money is silver and gold, but paper is only paper. I tell you +the people are grumbling. There is no fish in the palace. Yams and +sweet potatoes seem to have fled from the soil, for they come not. The +mountain dwellers have sent no wild goat in a week. Though Feathers of +the Sun compels the traders to buy copra at the old price, the people +sell not, for they will have none of the paper money. Only to-day have I +sent messengers to twenty houses. There are no eggs. Has Feathers of the +Sun put a blight upon the hens? I do not know. All I know is that there +are no eggs. Well it is that those who drink much eat little, else would +there be a palace famine. Tell your soldiers to receive their pay. Let +it be in his paper money." + +"And remember," Grief warned, "though there be selling in the stores, +when the soldiers come with their paper it will be refused. And in three +days will be the council, and Feathers of the Sun will be as dead as a +dead pig." + + + + +VI + +The day of the council found the population of the island crowded into +the capital. By canoe and whaleboat, on foot and donkey-back, the five +thousand inhabitants of Fitu-Iva had trooped in. The three intervening +days had had their share of excitement. At first there had been much +selling from the sparse shelves of the traders. But when the soldiers +appeared, their patronage was declined and they were told to go to +Fulualea for coin. "Says it not so on the face of the paper," the +traders demanded, "that for the asking the coin will be given in +exchange?" + +Only the strong authority of Uiliami had prevented the burning of the +traders' houses. As it was, one of Grief's copra-sheds went up in smoke +and was duly charged by Ieremia to the king's account. Ieremia himself +had been abused and mocked, and his spectacles broken. The skin was +off Willie Smee's knuckles. This had been caused by three boisterous +soldiers who violently struck their jaws thereon in quick succession. +Captain Boig was similarly injured. Peter Gee had come off undamaged, +because it chanced that it was bread-baskets and not jaws that struck +him on the fists. + +Tui Tulifau, with Sepeli at his side and surrounded by his convivial +chiefs, sat at the head of the council in the big compound. His +right eye and jaw were swollen as if he too had engaged in assaulting +somebody's fist. It was palace gossip that morning that Sepeli had +administered a conjugal beating. At any rate, her spouse was sober, +and his fat bulged spiritlessly through the rips in Willie Smee's silk +shirt. His thirst was prodigious, and he was continually served with +young drinking nuts. Outside the compound, held back by the army, was +the mass of the common people. Only the lesser chiefs, village maids, +village beaux, and talking men with their staffs of office were +permitted inside. Cornelius Deasy, as befitted a high and favoured +official, sat near to the right hand of the king. On the left of the +queen, opposite Cornelius and surrounded by the white traders he was +to represent, sat Ieremia. Bereft of his spectacles, he peered +short-sightedly across at the Chancellor of the Exchequer. + +In turn, the talking man of the windward coast, the talking man of the +leeward coast, and the talking man of the mountain villages, each backed +by his group of lesser talking men and chiefs, arose and made oration. +What they said was much the same. They grumbled about the paper money. +Affairs were not prosperous. No more copra was being smoked. The people +were suspicious. To such a pass had things come that all people wanted +to pay their debts and no one wanted to be paid. Creditors made a +practice of running away from debtors. The money was cheap. Prices were +going up and commodities were getting scarce. It cost three times the +ordinary price to buy a fowl, and then it was tough and like to die +of old age if not immediately sold. The outlook was gloomy. There were +signs and omens. There was a plague of rats in some districts. The crops +were bad. The custard apples were small. The best-bearing avocado on the +windward coast had mysteriously shed all its leaves. The taste had +gone from the mangoes. The plantains were eaten by a worm. The fish had +forsaken the ocean and vast numbers of tiger-sharks appeared. The wild +goats had fled to inaccessible summits. The poi in the poi-pits had +turned bitter. There were rumblings in the mountains, night-walking +of spirits; a woman of Punta-Puna had been struck speechless, and a +five-legged she-goat had been born in the village of Eiho. And that all +was due to the strange money of Fulualea was the firm conviction of the +elders in the village councils assembled. + +Uiliami spoke for the army. His men were discontented and mutinous. +Though by royal decree the traders were bidden accept the money, yet did +they refuse it. He would not say, but it looked as if the strange money +of Fulualea had something to do with it. + +Ieremia, as talking man of the traders, next spoke. When he arose, it +was noticeable that he stood with legs spraddled over a large grass +basket. He dwelt upon the cloth of the traders, its variety and beauty +and durability, which so exceeded the Fitu-Ivan wet-pounded tapa, +fragile and coarse. No one wore tapa any more. Yet all had worn +tapa, and nothing but tapa, before the traders came. There was the +mosquito-netting, sold for a song, that the cleverest Fitu-Ivan +net-weaver could not duplicate in a thousand years. He enlarged on the +incomparable virtues of rifles, axes, and steel fishhooks, down through +needles, thread and cotton fish-lines to white flour and kerosene oil. + +He expounded at length, with firstlies and secondlies and all minor +subdivisions of argument, on organization, and order, and civilization. +He contended that the trader was the bearer of civilization, and that +the trader must be protected in his trade else he would not come. Over +to the westward were islands which would not protect the traders. What +was the result? The traders would not come, and the people were like +wild animals. They wore no clothes, no silk shirts (here he peered and +blinked significantly at the king), and they ate one another. + +The queer paper of the Feathers of the Sun was not money. The traders +knew what money was, and they would not receive it. If Fitu-Iva +persisted in trying to make them receive it they would go away and never +come back. And then the Fitu-Ivans, who had forgotten how to make tapa, +would run around naked and eat one another. + +Much more he said, talking a solid hour, and always coming back to what +their dire condition would be when the traders came no more. "And in +that day," he perorated, "how will the Fitu-Ivan be known in the great +world? _Kai-kanak_* will men call him. '_Kiakanak! Kai-kanak!_" + + * Man-eater. + +Tui Tulifau spoke briefly. The case had been presented, he said, for the +people, the army, and the traders. It was now time for Feathers of the +Sun to present his side. It could not be denied that he had wrought +wonders with his financial system. "Many times has he explained to me +the working of his system," Tui Tulif au concluded. "It is very simple. +And now he will explain it to you." + +It was a conspiracy of the white traders, Cornelius contended. Ieremia +was right so far as concerned the manifold blessings of white flour +and kerosene oil. Fitu-Iva did not want to become _kai-kanak_. Fitu-Iva +wanted civilization; it wanted more and more civilization. Now that was +the very point, and they must follow him closely. Paper money was an +earmark of higher civilization. That was why he, the Feathers of the +Sun, had introduced it. And that was why the traders opposed it. They +did not want to see Fitu-Iva civilized. Why did they come across the far +ocean stretches with their goods to Fitu-Iva? He, the Feathers of the +Sun, would tell them why, to their faces, in grand council assembled. In +their own countries men were too civilized to let the traders make the +immense profits that they made out of the Fitu-Ivans. If the Fitu-Ivans +became properly civilized, the trade of the traders would be gone. In +that day every Fitu-Ivan could become a trader if he pleased. + +That was why the white traders fought the system of paper money, that +he, the Feathers of the Sun, had brought. Why was he called the Feathers +of the Sun? Because he was the Light-Bringer from the World Beyond the +Sky. The paper money was the light. The robbing white traders could not +flourish in the light. Therefore they fought the light. + +He would prove it to the good people of Fitu-Iva, and he would prove +it out of the mouths of his enemies. It was a well-known fact that all +highly civilized countries had paper-money systems. He would ask Ieremia +if this was not so. + +Ieremia did not answer. + +"You see," Cornelius went on, "he makes no answer. He cannot deny what +is true. England, France, Germany, America, all the great _Papalangi_ +countries, have the paper-money system. It works. From century to +century it works. I challenge you, Ieremia, as an honest man, as one +who was once a zealous worker in the Lord's vineyard, I challenge you to +deny that in the great _Papalangi_ countries the system works." + +Ieremia could not deny, and his fingers played nervously with the +fastening of the basket on his knees. + +"You see, it is as I have said," Cornelius continued. "Ieremia agrees +that it is so. Therefore, I ask you, all good people of Fitu-Iva, if +a system is good for the _Papalangi_ countries, why is it not good for +Fitu-Iva?" + +"It is not the same!" Ieremia cried. "The paper of the Feathers of the +Sun is different from the paper of the great countries." + +That Cornelius had been prepared for this was evident. He held up a +Fitu-Ivan note that was recognized by all. + +"What is that?" he demanded. + +"Paper, mere paper," was Ieremia's reply. + +"And that?" + +This time Cornelius held up a Bank of England note. + +"It is the paper money of the English," he explained to the Council, +at the same time extending it for Ieremia to examine. "Is it not true, +Ieremia, that it is paper money of the English?" + +Ieremia nodded reluctantly. + +"You have said that the paper money of Fitu-Iva was paper, now how about +this of the English? What is it?.... You must answer like a true man... +All wait for your answer, Ieremia." + +"It is--it is----" the puzzled Ieremia began, then spluttered +helplessly, the fallacy beyond his penetration. + +"Paper, mere paper," Cornelius concluded for him, imitating his halting +utterance. + +Conviction sat on the faces of all. The king clapped his hands +admiringly and murmured, "It is most clear, very clear." + +"You see, he himself acknowledges it." Assured triumph was in Deasy's +voice and bearing. "He knows of no difference. There is no difference. +'Tis the very image of money. 'Tis money itself." + +In the meantime Grief was whispering in Ieremia's ear, who nodded and +began to speak. + +"But it is well known to all the _Papalangi_ that the English Government +will pay coin money for the paper." + +Deasy's victory was now absolute. He held aloft a Fitu-Ivan note. + +"Is it not so written on this paper as well?" + +Again Grief whispered. + +"That Fitu-Iva will pay coin money?" asked Ieremia + +"It is so written." + +A third time Grief prompted. + +"On demand?" asked Ieremia. + +"On demand," Cornelius assured him. + +"Then I demand coin money now," said Ieremia, drawing a small package of +notes from the pouch at his girdle. + +Cornelius scanned the package with a quick, estimating eye. + +"Very well," he agreed. "I shall give you the coin money now. How much?" + +"And we will see the system work," the king proclaimed, partaking in his +Chancellor's triumph. + +"You have heard!--He will give coin money now!" Ieremia cried in a loud +voice to the assemblage. + +At the same time he plunged both hands in the basket and drew forth many +packages of Fitu-Ivan notes. It was noticed that a peculiar odour was +adrift about the council. + +"I have here," Ieremia announced, "one thousand and twenty-eight pounds +twelve shillings and sixpence. Here is a sack to put the coin money in." + +Cornelius recoiled. He had not expected such a sum, and everywhere about +the council his uneasy eyes showed him chiefs and talking men drawing +out bundles of notes. The army, its two months' pay in its hands, +pressed forward to the edge of the council, while behind it the +populace, with more money, invaded the compound. + +"'Tis a run on the bank you've precipitated," he said reproachfully to +Grief. + +"Here is the sack to put the coin money in," Ieremia urged. + +"It must be postponed," Cornelius said desperately, "'Tis not in banking +hours." + +Ieremia flourished a package of money. "Nothing of banking hours is +written here. It says on demand, and I now demand." + +"Let them come to-morrow, O Tui Tulifau," Cornelius appealed to the +king. "They shall be paid to-morrow." + +Tui Tulifau hesitated, but his spouse glared at him, her brawny arm +tensing as the fist doubled into a redoubtable knot, Tui Tulifau tried +to look away, but failed. He cleared his throat nervously. + +"We will see the system work," he decreed. "The people have come far." + +"'Tis good money you're asking me to pay out," Deasy muttered in a low +voice to the king. + +Sepeli caught what he said, and grunted so savagely as to startle the +king, who involuntarily shrank away from her. + +"Forget not the pig," Grief whispered to Ieremia, who immediately stood +up. + +With a sweeping gesture he stilled the babel of voices that was +beginning to rise. + +"It was an ancient and honourable custom of Fitu-Iva," he said, "that +when a man was proved a notorious evildoer his joints were broken with +a club and he was staked out at low water to be fed upon alive by the +sharks. Unfortunately, that day is past. Nevertheless another ancient +and honourable custom remains with us. You all know what it is. When a +man is a proven thief and liar he shall be struck with a dead pig." + +His right hand went into the basket, and, despite the lack of his +spectacles, the dead pig that came into view landed accurately on +Deasy's neck. With such force was it thrown that the Chancellor, in +his sitting position, toppled over sidewise. Before he could recover, +Sepeli, with an agility unexpected of a woman who weighed two hundred +and sixty pounds, had sprung across to him. One hand clutched his shirt +collar, the other hand brandished the pig, and amid the vast uproar of a +delighted kingdom she royally swatted him. + +There remained nothing for Tui Tulifau but to put a good face on his +favourite's disgrace, and his mountainous fat lay back on the mats and +shook in a gale of Gargantuan laughter. + +When Sepeli dropped both pig and Chancellor, a talking man from the +windward coast picked up the carcass. Cornelius was on his feet and +running, when the pig caught him on the legs and tripped him. The people +and the army, with shouts and laughter, joined in the sport. + +Twist and dodge as he would, everywhere the ex-Chancellor of the +Exchequer was met or overtaken by the flying pig. He scuttled like a +frightened rabbit in and out among the avocados and the palms. No hand +was laid upon him, and his tormentors made way before him, but ever they +pursued, and ever the pig flew as fast as hands could pick it up. + +As the chase died away down the Broom Road, Grief led the traders to the +royal treasury, and the day was well over ere the last Fitu-Ivan bank +note had been redeemed with coin. + + + + +VII + +Through the mellow cool of twilight a man paddled out from a clump of +jungle to the _Cantani_. It was a leaky and abandoned dugout, and he +paddled slowly, desisting from time to time in order to bale. The +Kanaka sailors giggled gleefully as he came alongside and painfully +drew himself over the rail. He was bedraggled and filthy, and seemed +half-dazed. + +"Could I speak a word with you, Mr. Grief?" he asked sadly and humbly. + +"Sit to leeward and farther away," Grief answered. "A little farther +away. That's better." + +Cornelius sat down on the rail and held his head in both his hands. + +"'Tis right," he said. "I'm as fragrant as a recent battlefield. My head +aches to burstin'. My neck is fair broken. The teeth are loose in my +jaws. There's nests of hornets buzzin' in my ears. My medulla oblongata +is dislocated. I've been through earthquake and pestilence, and the +heavens have rained pigs." He paused with a sigh that ended in a groan. +"'Tis a vision of terrible death. One that the poets never dreamed. To +be eaten by rats, or boiled in oil, or pulled apart by wild horses--that +would be unpleasant. But to be beaten to death with a dead pig!" +He shuddered at the awfulness of it. "Sure it transcends the human +imagination." + +Captain Boig sniffed audibly, moved his canvas chair farther to +windward, and sat down again. + +"I hear you're runnin' over to Yap, Mr. Grief," Cornelius went on. "An' +two things I'm wantin' to beg of you: a passage an' the nip of the old +smoky I refused the night you landed." + +Grief clapped his hands for the black steward and ordered soap and +towels. + +"Go for'ard, Cornelius, and take a scrub first," he said. "The boy will +bring you a pair of dungarees and a shirt. And by the way, before you +go, how was it we found more coin in the treasury than paper you had +issued?" + +"'Twas the stake of my own I'd brought with me for the adventure." + +"We've decided to charge the demurrage and other expenses and loss to +Tui Tulifau," Grief said. "So the balance we found will be turned over +to you. But ten shillings must be deducted." + +"For what?" + +"Do you think dead pigs grow on trees? The sum of ten shillings for that +pig is entered in the accounts." + +Cornelius bowed his assent with a shudder. + +"Sure it's grateful I am it wasn't a fifteen-shilling pig or a +twenty-shilling one." + + + + + +Chapter Eight--THE PEARLS OF PARLAY + + + + +I + +The Kanaka helmsman put the wheel down, and the _Malahini_ slipped into +the eye of the wind and righted to an even keel. Her head-sails emptied, +there was a rat-tat of reef-points and quick shifting of boom-tackles, +and she was heeled over and filled away on the other tack. Though it was +early morning and the wind brisk, the five white men who lounged on +the poop-deck were scantily clad. David Grief, and his guest, Gregory +Mulhall, an Englishman, were still in pajamas, their naked feet thrust +into Chinese slippers. The captain and mate were in thin undershirts and +unstarched duck pants, while the supercargo still held in his hands +the undershirt he was reluctant to put on. The sweat stood out on his +forehead, and he seemed to thrust his bare chest thirstily into the wind +that did not cool. + +"Pretty muggy, for a breeze like this," he complained. + +"And what's it doing around in the west? That's what I want to know," +was Grief's contribution to the general plaint. + +"It won't last, and it ain't been there long," said Hermann, the Holland +mate. "She is been chop around all night--five minutes here, ten minutes +there, one hour somewhere other quarter." + +"Something makin ', something makin '," Captain Warfield croaked, +spreading his bushy beard with the fingers of both hands and shoving +the thatch of his chin into the breeze in a vain search for coolness. +"Weather's been crazy for a fortnight. Haven't had the proper trades in +three weeks. Everything's mixed up. Barometer was pumping at sunset last +night, and it's pumping now, though the weather sharps say it don't mean +anything. All the same, I've got a prejudice against seeing it pump. +Gets on my nerves, sort of, you know. She was pumping that way the time +we lost the _Lancaster_. I was only an apprentice, but I can remember +that well enough. Brand new, four-masted steel ship; first voyage; broke +the old man's heart. He'd been forty years in the company. Just faded +way and died the next year." + +Despite the wind and the early hour, the heat was suffocating. The wind +whispered coolness, but did not deliver coolness. It might have blown +off the Sahara, save for the extreme humidity with which it was laden. +There was no fog nor mist, nor hint of fog or mist, yet the dimness of +distance produced the impression. There were no defined clouds, yet +so thickly were the heavens covered by a messy cloud-pall that the sun +failed to shine through. + +"Ready about!" Captain Warfield ordered with slow sharpness. + +The brown, breech-clouted Kanaka sailors moved languidly but quickly to +head-sheets and boom-tackles. + +"Hard a-lee!" + +The helmsman ran the spokes over with no hint of gentling, and the +_Malahini_ darted prettily into the wind and about. + +"Jove! she's a witch!" was Mulhall's appreciation. "I didn't know you +South Sea traders sailed yachts." + +"She was a Gloucester fisherman originally," Grief explained, "and +the Gloucester boats are all yachts when it comes to build, rig, and +sailing." + +"But you're heading right in--why don't you make it?" came the +Englishman's criticism. + +"Try it, Captain Warfield," Grief suggested. "Show him what a lagoon +entrance is on a strong ebb." + +"Close-and-by!" the captain ordered. + +"Close-and-by," the Kanaka repeated, easing half a spoke. + +The _Malahini_ laid squarely into the narrow passage which was the +lagoon entrance _of_ a large, long, and narrow oval of an atoll. The +atoll was shaped as if three atolls, in the course of building, had +collided and coalesced and failed to rear the partition walls. Cocoanut +palms grew in spots on the circle of sand, and there were many gaps +where the sand was too low to the sea for cocoanuts, and through which +could be seen the protected lagoon where the water lay flat like the +ruffled surface of a mirror. Many square miles of water were in the +irregular lagoon, all of which surged out on the ebb through the one +narrow channel. So narrow was the channel, so large the outflow of +water, that the passage was more like the rapids of a river than the +mere tidal entrance to an atoll. The water boiled and whirled and +swirled and drove outward in a white foam of stiff, serrated waves. Each +heave and blow on her bows of the upstanding waves of the current swung +the Malahini off the straight lead and wedged her as with wedges of +steel toward the side of the passage. Part way in she was, when her +closeness to the coral edge compelled her to go about. On the opposite +tack, broadside to the current, she swept seaward with the current's +speed. + +"Now's the time for that new and expensive engine of yours," Grief +jeered good-naturedly. + +That the engine was a sore point with Captain Warfield was patent. He +had begged and badgered for it, until in the end Grief had given his +consent. + +"It will pay for itself yet," the captain retorted, "You wait and +see. It beats insurance and you know the underwriters won't stand for +insurance in the Paumotus." + +Grief pointed to a small cutter beating up astern of them on the same +course. + +"I'll wager a five-franc piece the little Nuhiva beats us in." + +"Sure," Captain Warfield agreed. "She's overpowered. We're like a liner +alongside of her, and we've only got forty horsepower. She's got ten +horse, and she's a little skimming dish. She could skate across the +froth of hell, but just the same she can't buck this current. It's +running ten knots right now." + +And at the rate of ten knots, buffeted and jerkily rolled, the +_Malahini_ went out to sea with the tide. + +"She'll slacken in half an hour--then we'll make headway," Captain +Warfield said, with an irritation explained by his next words. "He has +no right to call it Parlay. It's down on the admiralty charts, and the +French charts, too, as Hikihoho. Bougainville discovered it and named it +from the natives." + +"What's the name matter?" the supercargo demanded, taking advantage of +speech to pause with arms shoved into the sleeves of the undershirt. +"There it is, right under our nose, and old Parlay is there with the +pearls." + +"Who see them pearl?" Hermann queried, looking from one to another. + +"It's well known," was the supercargo's reply. He turned to the +steersman: "Tai-Hotauri, what about old Parlay's pearls?" + +The Kanaka, pleased and self-conscious, took and gave a spoke. + +"My brother dive for Parlay three, four month, and he make much talk +about pearl. Hikihoho very good place for pearl." + +"And the pearl-buyers have never got him to part with a pearl," the +captain broke in. + +"And they say he had a hatful for Armande when he sailed for Tahiti," +the supercargo carried on the tale. "That's fifteen years ago, and he's +been adding to it ever since--stored the shell as well. Everybody's seen +that--hundreds of tons of it. They say the lagoon's fished clean now. +Maybe that's why he's announced the auction." + +"If he really sells, this will be the biggest year's output of pearls in +the Paumotus," Grief said. + +"I say, now, look here!" Mulhall burst forth, harried by the humid +heat as much as the rest of them. "What's it all about? Who's the old +beachcomber anyway? What are all these pearls? Why so secretious about +it?" + +"Hikihoho belongs to old Parlay," the supercargo answered. "He's got a +fortune in pearls, saved up for years and years, and he sent the word +out weeks ago that he'd auction them off to the buyers to-morrow. See +those schooners' masts sticking up inside the lagoon?" + +"Eight, so I see," said Hermann. + +"What are they doing in a dinky atoll like this?" the supercargo went +on. "There isn't a schooner-load of copra a year in the place. They've +come for the auction. That's why we're here. That's why the little +_Nuhiva's_ bumping along astern there, though what she can buy is beyond +me. Narii Herring--he's an English Jew half-caste--owns and runs her, +and his only assets are his nerve, his debts, and his whiskey bills. +He's a genius in such things. He owes so much that there isn't a +merchant in Papeete who isn't interested in his welfare. They go out of +their way to throw work in his way. They've got to, and a dandy stunt it +is for Narii. Now I owe nobody. What's the result? If I fell down in +a fit on the beach they'd let me lie there and die. They wouldn't lose +anything. But Narii Herring?--what wouldn't they do if he fell in a fit? +Their best wouldn't be too good for him. They've got too much money +tied up in him to let him lie. They'd take him into their homes and +hand-nurse him like a brother. Let me tell you, honesty in paying bills +ain't what it's cracked up to be." + +"What's this Narii chap got to do with it?" was the Englishman's +short-tempered demand. And, turning to Grief, he said, "What's all this +pearl nonsense? Begin at the beginning." + +"You'll have to help me out," Grief warned the others, as he began. "Old +Parlay is a character. From what I've seen of him I believe he's partly +and mildly insane. Anyway, here's the story: Parlay's a full-blooded +Frenchman. He told me once that he came from Paris. His accent is the +true Parisian. He arrived down here in the old days. Went to trading +and all the rest. That's how he got in on Hikihoho. Came in trading when +trading was the real thing. About a hundred miserable Paumotans lived +on the island. He married the queen--native fashion. When she died, +everything was his. Measles came through, and there weren't more than a +dozen survivors. He fed them, and worked them, and was king. Now before +the queen died she gave birth to a girl. That's Armande. When she was +three he sent her to the convent at Papeete. When she was seven or eight +he sent her to France. You begin to glimpse the situation. The best +and most aristocratic convent in France was none too good for the only +daughter of a Paumotan island king and capitalist, and you know the old +country French draw no colour line. She was educated like a princess, +and she accepted herself in much the same way. Also, she thought she was +all-white, and never dreamed of a bar sinister. + +"Now comes the tragedy. The old man had always been cranky and erratic, +and he'd played the despot on Hikihoho so long that he'd got the idea +in his head that there was nothing wrong with the king--or the princess +either. When Armande was eighteen he sent for her. He had slews and +slathers of money, as Yankee Bill would say. He'd built the big house on +Hikihoho, and a whacking fine bungalow in Papeete. She was to arrive on +the mail boat from New Zealand, and he sailed in his schooner to meet +her at Papeete. And he might have carried the situation off, despite the +hens and bull-beasts of Papeete, if it hadn't been for the hurricane. +That was the year, wasn't it, when Manu-Huhi was swept and eleven +hundred drowned?" + +The others nodded, and Captain Warfield said: "I was in the _Magpie_ +that blow, and we went ashore, all hands and the cook, _Magpie_ and all, +a quarter of a mile into the cocoanuts at the head of Taiohae Bay--and +it a supposedly hurricane-proof harbour." + +"Well," Grief continued, "old Parlay got caught in the same blow, and +arrived in Papeete with his hatful of pearls three weeks too late. He'd +had to jack up his schooner and build half a mile of ways before he +could get her back into the sea. + +"And in the meantime there was Armande at Papeete. Nobody called on her. +She did, French fashion, make the initial calls on the Governor and the +port doctor. They saw her, but neither of their hen-wives was at home to +her nor returned the call. She was out of caste, without caste, though +she had never dreamed it, and that was the gentle way they broke the +information to her. There was a gay young lieutenant on the French +cruiser. He lost his heart to her, but not his head. You can imagine +the shock to this young woman, refined, beautiful, raised like an +aristocrat, pampered with the best of old France that money could buy. +And you can guess the end." He shrugged his shoulders. "There was a +Japanese servant in the bungalow. He saw it. Said she did it with the +proper spirit of the Samurai. Took a stiletto--no thrust, no drive, +no wild rush for annihilation--took the stiletto, placed the point +carefully against her heart, and with both hands, slowly and steadily, +pressed home. + +"Old Parlay arrived after that with his pearls. There was one single one +of them, they say, worth sixty thousand francs. Peter Gee saw it, and +has told me he offered that much for it. The old man went clean off for +a while. They had him strait-jacketed in the Colonial Club two days----" + +"His wife's uncle, an old Paumotan, cut him out of the jacket and turned +him loose," the supercargo corroborated. + +"And then old Parlay proceeded to eat things up," Grief went on. "Pumped +three bullets into the scalawag of a lieutenant----" + +"Who lay in sick bay for three months," Captain Warfield contributed. + +"Flung a glass of wine in the Governor's face; fought a duel with the +port doctor; beat up his native servants; wrecked the hospital; broke +two ribs and the collarbone of a man nurse, and escaped; and went down +to his schooner, a gun in each hand, daring the chief of police and all +the gendarmes to arrest him, and sailed for Hikihoho. And they say he's +never left the island since." + +The supercargo nodded. "That was fifteen years ago, and he's never +budged." + +"And added to his pearls," said the captain. "He's a blithering old +lunatic. Makes my flesh creep. He's a regular Finn." + +"What's that?" Mulhall inquired. + +"Bosses the weather--that's what the natives believe, at any rate. Ask +Tai-Hotauri there. Hey, Tai-Hotauri! what you think old Parlay do along +weather?" + +"Just the same one big weather devil," came the Kanaka's answer. "I +know. He want big blow, he make big blow. He want no wind, no wind +come." + +"A regular old Warlock," said Mulhall. + +"No good luck them pearl," Tai-Hotauri blurted out, rolling his head +ominously. "He say he sell. Plenty schooner come. Then he make big +hurricane, everybody finish, you see. All native men say so." + +"It's hurricane season now," Captain War-field laughed morosely. +"They're not far wrong. It's making for something right now, and I'd +feel better if the _Malahini_ was a thousand miles away from here." + +"He is a bit mad," Grief concluded. "I've tried to get his point of +view. It's--well, it's mixed. For eighteen years he'd centred everything +on Armande. Half the time he believes she's still alive, not yet come +back from France. That's one of the reasons he held on to the pearls. +And all the time he hates white men. He never forgets they killed her, +though a great deal of the time he forgets she's dead. Hello! Where's +your wind?" + +The sails bellied emptily overhead, and Captain Warfield grunted his +disgust. Intolerable as the heat had been, in the absence of wind it +was almost overpowering. The sweat oozed out on all their faces, and now +one, and again another, drew deep breaths, involuntarily questing for +more air. + +"Here she comes again--an eight point haul! Boom-tackles across! Jump!" + +The Kanakas sprang to the captain's orders, and for five minutes the +schooner laid directly into the passage and even gained on the current. +Again the breeze fell flat, then puffed from the old quarter, compelling +a shift back of sheets and tackles. + +"Here comes the _Nuhiva_" Grief said. "She's got her engine on. Look at +her skim." + +"All ready?" the captain asked the engineer, a Portuguese half-caste, +whose head and shoulders protruded from the small hatch just for'ard of +the cabin, and who wiped the sweat from his face with a bunch of greasy +waste. + +"Sure," he replied. + +"Then let her go." + +The engineer disappeared into his den, and a moment later the exhaust +muffler coughed and spluttered overside. But the schooner could not hold +her lead. The little cutter made three feet to her two and was quickly +alongside and forging ahead. Only natives were on her deck, and the man +steering waved his hand in derisive greeting and farewell. + +"That's Narii Herring," Grief told Mulhall. "The big fellow at the +wheel--the nerviest and most conscienceless scoundrel in the Paumotus." + +Five minutes later a cry of joy from their own Kanakas centred all eyes +on the _Nuhiva_. Her engine had broken down and they were overtaking +her. The _Malahini's_ sailors sprang into the rigging and jeered as they +went by; the little cutter heeled over by the wind with a bone in her +teeth, going backward on the tide. + +"Some engine that of ours," Grief approved, as the lagoon opened before +them and the course was changed across it to the anchorage. + +Captain Warfield was visibly cheered, though he merely grunted, "It'll +pay for itself, never fear." + +The _Malahini_ ran well into the centre of the little fleet ere she +found swinging room to anchor. + +"There's Isaacs on the _Dolly_," Grief observed, with a hand wave of +greeting. "And Peter Gee's on the _Roberta_. Couldn't keep him away from +a pearl sale like this. And there's Francini on the _Cactus_. They're +all here, all the buyers. Old Parlay will surely get a price." + +"They haven't repaired the engine yet," Captain Warfield grumbled +gleefully. + +He was looking across the lagoon to where the _Nuhiva's_ sails showed +through the sparse cocoa-nuts. + + + + +II + +The house of Parlay was a big two-story frame affair, built of +California lumber, with a galvanized iron roof. So disproportionate +was it to the slender ring of the atoll that it showed out upon the +sand-strip and above it like some monstrous excrescence. They of the +_Malahini_ paid the courtesy visit ashore immediately after anchoring. +Other captains and buyers were in the big room examining the pearls that +were to be auctioned next day. Paumotan servants, natives of Hikihoho, +and relatives of the owner, moved about dispensing whiskey and absinthe. +And through the curious company moved Parlay himself, cackling and +sneering, the withered wreck of what had once been a tall and powerful +man. His eyes were deep sunken and feverish, his cheeks fallen in and +cavernous. The hair of his head seemed to have come out in patches, and +his mustache and imperial had shed in the same lopsided way. + +"Jove!" Mulhall muttered under his breath. "A long-legged Napoleon the +Third, but burnt out, baked, and fire-crackled. And mangy! No wonder he +crooks his head to one side. He's got to keep the balance." + +"Goin' to have a blow," was the old man's greeting to Grief. "You must +think a lot of pearls to come a day like this." + +"They're worth going to inferno for," Grief laughed genially back, +running his eyes over the surface of the table covered by the display. + +"Other men have already made that journey for them," old Parlay cackled. +"See this one!" He pointed to a large, perfect pearl the size of a small +walnut that lay apart on a piece of chamois. "They offered me sixty +thousand francs for it in Tahiti. They'll bid as much and more for it +to-morrow, if they aren't blown away. Well, that pearl, it was found by +my cousin, my cousin by marriage. He was a native, you see. Also, he +was a thief. He hid it. It was mine. His cousin, who was also my +cousin--we're all related here--killed him for it and fled away in a +cutter to Noo-Nau. I pursued, but the chief of Noo-Nau had killed him +for it before I got there. Oh, yes, there are many dead men represented +on the table there. Have a drink, Captain. Your face is not familiar. +You are new in the islands?" + +"It's Captain Robinson of the _Roberta_," Grief said, introducing them. + +In the meantime Mulhall had shaken hands with Peter Gee. + +"I never fancied there were so many pearls in the world," Mulhall said. + +"Nor have I ever seen so many together at one time," Peter Gee admitted. + +"What ought they to be worth?" + +"Fifty or sixty thousand pounds--and that's to us buyers. In +Paris----" He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his eyebrows at the +incommunicableness of the sum. + +Mulhall wiped the sweat from his eyes. All were sweating profusely +and breathing hard. There was no ice in the drink that was served, and +whiskey and absinthe went down lukewarm. + +"Yes, yes," Parlay was cackling. "Many dead men lie on the table +there. I know those pearls, all of them. You see those three! Perfectly +matched, aren't they? A diver from Easter Island got them for me inside +a week. Next week a shark got him; took his arm off and blood poison did +the business. And that big baroque there--nothing much--if I'm +offered twenty francs for it to-morrow I'll be in luck; it came out of +twenty-two fathoms of water. The man was from Raratonga. He broke all +diving records. He got it out of twenty-two fathoms. I saw him. And he +burst his lungs at the same time, or got the 'bends,' for he died in two +hours. He died screaming. They could hear him for miles. He was the most +powerful native I ever saw. Half a dozen of my divers have died of the +bends. And more men will die, more men will die." + +"Oh, hush your croaking, Parlay," chided one of the captains. "It ain't +going to blow." + +"If I was a strong man, I couldn't get up hook and get out fast enough," +the old man retorted in the falsetto of age. "Not if I was a strong man +with the taste for wine yet in my mouth. But not you. You'll all stay, I +wouldn't advise you if I thought you'd go, You can't drive buzzards away +from the carrion. Have another drink, my brave sailor-men. Well, well, +what men will dare for a few little oyster drops! There they are, the +beauties! Auction to-morrow, at ten sharp. Old Parlay's selling out, and +the buzzards are gathering--old Parlay who was a stronger man in his day +than any of them and who will see most of them dead yet." + +"If he isn't a vile old beast!" the supercargo of the _Malahini_ +whispered to Peter Gee. + +"What if she does blow?" said the captain of the _Dolly_. "Hikihoho's +never been swept." + +"The more reason she will be, then," Captain Warfield answered back. "I +wouldn't trust her." + +"Who's croaking now?" Grief reproved. + +"I'd hate to lose that new engine before it paid for itself," Captain +Warfield replied gloomily. + +Parlay skipped with astonishing nimbleness across the crowded room to +the barometer on the wall. + +"Take a look, my brave sailormen!" he cried exultantly. + +The man nearest read the glass. The sobering effect showed plainly on +his face. + +"It's dropped ten," was all he said, yet every face went anxious, and +there was a look as if every man desired immediately to start for the +door. + +"Listen!" Parlay commanded. + +In the silence the outer surf seemed to have become unusually loud. +There was a great rumbling roar. + +"A big sea is beginning to set," some one said; and there was a movement +to the windows, where all gathered. + +Through the sparse cocoanuts they gazed seaward. An orderly succession +of huge smooth seas was rolling down upon the coral shore. For some +minutes they gazed on the strange sight and talked in low voices, and in +those few minutes it was manifest to all that the waves were increasing +in size. It was uncanny, this rising sea in a dead calm, and their +voices unconsciously sank lower. Old Parlay shocked them with his abrupt +cackle. + +"There is yet time to get away to sea, brave gentlemen. You can tow +across the lagoon with your whaleboats." + +"It's all right, old man," said Darling, the mate of the _Cactus_, a +stalwart youngster of twenty-five. "The blow's to the southward and +passing on. We'll not get a whiff of it." + +An air of relief went through the room. Conversations were started, and +the voices became louder. Several of the buyers even went back to the +table to continue the examination of the pearls. + +Parlay's shrill cackle rose higher. + +"That's right," he encouraged. "If the world was coming to an end you'd +go on buying." + +"We'll buy these to-morrow just the same," Isaacs assured him. + +"Then you'll be doing your buying in hell." + +The chorus of incredulous laughter incensed the old man. He turned +fiercely on Darling. + +"Since when have children like you come to the knowledge of storms? And +who is the man who has plotted the hurricane-courses of the Paumotus? +What books will you find it in? I sailed the Paumotus before the oldest +of you drew breath. I know. To the eastward the paths of the hurricanes +are on so wide a circle they make a straight line. To the westward here +they make a sharp curve. Remember your chart. How did it happen the +hurricane of '91 swept Auri and Hiolau? The curve, my brave boy, the +curve! In an hour, or two or three at most, will come the wind. Listen +to that!" + +A vast rumbling crash shook the coral foundations of the atoll. The +house quivered to it. The native servants, with bottles of whiskey and +absinthe in their hands, shrank together as if for protection and stared +with fear through the windows at the mighty wash of the wave lapping far +up the beach to the corner of a copra-shed. + +Parlay looked at the barometer, giggled, and leered around at his +guests. Captain War-field strode across to see. + +"29:75," he read. "She's gone down five more. By God! the old devil's +right. She's a-coming, and it's me, for one, for aboard." + +"It's growing dark," Isaacs half whispered. + +"Jove! it's like a stage," Mulhall said to Grief, looking at his watch. +"Ten o'clock in the morning, and it's like twilight. Down go the lights +for the tragedy. Where's the slow music!" + +In answer, another rumbling crash shook the atoll and the house. Almost +in a panic the company started for the door. In the dim light their +sweaty faces appeared ghastly. Isaacs panted asthmatically in the +suffocating heat. + +"What's your haste?" Parlay chuckled and girded at his departing guests. +"A last drink, brave gentlemen." No one noticed him. As they took the +shell-bordered path to the beach he stuck his head out the door and +called, "Don't forget, gentlemen, at ten to-morrow old Parlay sells his +pearls." + + + + +III + +On the beach a curious scene took place. Whaleboat after whaleboat was +being hurriedly manned and shoved off. It had grown still darker. The +stagnant calm continued, and the sand shook under their feet with each +buffet of the sea on the outer shore. Narii Herring walked leisurely +along the sand. He grinned at the very evident haste of the captains and +buyers. With him were three of his Kanakas, and also Tai-Hotauri. + +"Get into the boat and take an oar," Captain Warfield ordered the +latter. + +Tai-Hotauri came over jauntily, while Narii Herring and his three +Kanakas paused and looked on from forty feet away. + +"I work no more for you, skipper," Tai-Hotauri said insolently and +loudly. But his face belied his words, for he was guilty of a +prodigious wink. "Fire me, skipper," he huskily whispered, with a second +significant wink. + +Captain Warfield took the cue and proceeded to do some acting himself. +He raised his fist and his voice. + +"Get into that boat," he thundered, "or I'll knock seven bells out of +you!" + +The Kanaka drew back truculently, and Grief stepped between to placate +his captain. + +"I go to work on the _Nuhiva_," Tai-Hotauri said, rejoining the other +group. + +"Come back here!" the captain threatened. + +"He's a free man, skipper," Narii Herring spoke up. "He's sailed with me +in the past, and he's sailing again, that's all." + +"Come on, we must get on board," Grief urged. "Look how dark it's +getting." + +Captain Warfield gave in, but as the boat shoved off he stood up in the +sternsheets and shook his fist ashore. + +"I'll settle with you yet, Narii," he cried. "You're the only skipper in +the group that steals other men's sailors," He sat down, and in lowered +voice queried: "Now what's Tai-Hotauri up to? He's on to something, but +what is it?" + + + + +IV + +As the boat came alongside the _Malahini_, Hermann's anxious face +greeted them over the rail. + +"Bottom out fall from barometer," he announced. "She's goin' to blow. I +got starboard anchor overhaul." + +"Overhaul the big one, too," Captain Warfield ordered, taking charge. +"And here, some of you, hoist in this boat. Lower her down to the deck +and lash her bottom up." + +Men were busy at work on the decks of all the schooners. There was a +great clanking of chains being overhauled, and now one craft, and +now another, hove in, veered, and dropped a second anchor. Like the +_Malahini_, those that had third anchors were preparing to drop them +when the wind showed what quarter it was to blow from. + +The roar of the big surf continually grew though the lagoon lay in the +mirror-like calm. + +There was no sign of life where Parlay's big house perched on the sand. +Boat and copra-sheds and the sheds where the shell was stored were +deserted. + +"For two cents I'd up anchors and get out," Grief said. "I'd do it +anyway if it were open sea. But those chains of atolls to the north and +east have us pocketed. We've a better chance right here. What do you +think, Captain Warfield?" + +"I agree with you, though a lagoon is no mill-pond for riding it out. +I wonder where she's going to start from? Hello! There goes one of +Parlay's copra-sheds." + +They could see the grass-thatched shed lift and collapse, while a froth +of foam cleared the crest of the sand and ran down to the lagoon. + +"Breached across!" Mulhall exclaimed. "That's something for a starter. +There she comes again!" + +The wreck of the shed was now flung up and left on the sand-crest, A +third wave buffeted it into fragments which washed down the slope toward +the lagoon. + +"If she blow I would as be cooler yet," Hermann grunted. "No longer can +I breathe. It is damn hot. I am dry like a stove." + +He chopped open a drinking cocoanut with his heavy sheath-knife and +drained the contents. The rest of them followed his example, pausing +once to watch one of Parlay's shell sheds go down in ruin. The barometer +now registered 29:50. + +"Must be pretty close to the centre of the area of low pressure," Grief +remarked cheerfully. "I was never through the eye of a hurricane before. +It will be an experience for you, too, Mulhall. From the speed the +barometer's dropped, it's going to be a big one." + +Captain Warfield groaned, and all eyes drew to him. He was looking +through the glasses down the length of the lagoon to the southeast. + +"There she comes," he said quietly. + +They did not need glasses to see. A flying film, strangely marked, +seemed drawing over the surface of the lagoon. Abreast of it, along the +atoll, travelling with equal speed, was a stiff bending of the cocoanut +palms and a blur of flying leaves. The front of the wind on the water +was a solid, sharply defined strip of dark-coloured, wind-vexed water. +In advance of this strip, like skirmishers, were flashes of windflaws. +Behind this strip, a quarter of a mile in width, was a strip of what +seemed glassy calm. Next came another dark strip of wind, and behind +that the lagoon was all crisping, boiling whiteness. + +"What is that calm streak?" Mulhall asked. + +"Calm," Warfield answered. + +"But it travels as fast as the wind," was the other's objection. + +"It has to, or it would be overtaken and it wouldn't be any calm. It's +a double-header, I saw a big squall like that off Savaii once. A regular +double-header. Smash! it hit us, then it lulled to nothing, and smashed +us a second time. Stand by and hold on! Here she is on top of us. Look +at the _Roberta!_" + +The Roberta, lying nearest to the wind at slack chains, was swept off +broadside like a straw. Then her chains brought her up, bow on to the +wind, with an astonishing jerk. Schooner after schooner, the _Malahini_ +with them, was now sweeping away with the first gust and fetching up +on taut chains. Mulhall and several of the Kanakas were taken off their +feet when the _Malahini_ jerked to her anchors. + +And then there was no wind. The flying calm streak had reached +them. Grief lighted a match, and the unshielded flame burned without +flickering in the still air. A very dim twilight prevailed. The +cloud-sky, lowering as it had been for hours, seemed now to have +descended quite down upon the sea. + +The Roberta tightened to her chains when the second head of the +hurricane hit, as did schooner after schooner in swift succession. The +sea, white with fury, boiled in tiny, spitting wavelets. The deck of the +_Malahini_ vibrated under the men's feet. The taut-stretched halyards +beat a tattoo against the masts, and all the rigging, as if smote by +some mighty hand, set up a wild thrumming. It was impossible to face the +wind and breathe. Mulhall, crouching with the others behind the shelter +of the cabin, discovered this, and his lungs were filled in an instant +with so great a volume of driven air which he could not expel that he +nearly strangled ere he could turn his head away. + +"It's incredible," he gasped, but no one heard him. + +Hermann and several Kanakas were crawling for'ard on hands and knees to +let go the third anchor. Grief touched Captain Warfield and pointed to +the _Roberta_. She was dragging down upon them. Warfield put his mouth +to Grief's ear and shouted: + +"We're dragging, too!" + +Grief sprang to the wheel and put it hard over, veering the _Mahhini_ +to port. The third anchor took hold, and the _Roberta_ went by, +stern-first, a dozen yards away. They waved their hands to Peter Gee +and Captain Robinson, who, with a number of sailors, were at work on the +bow. + +"He's knocking out the shackles!" Grief shouted. "Going to chance the +passage! Got to! Anchors skating!" + +"We're holding now!" came the answering shout. "There goes the _Cactus_ +down on the _Misi_. That settles them!" + +The _Misi_ had been holding, but the added windage of the _Cactus_ +was too much, and the entangled schooners slid away across the boiling +white. Their men could be seen chopping and fighting to get them apart. +The _Roberta_, cleared of her anchors, with a patch of tarpaulin set +for'ard, was heading for the passage at the northwestern end of the +lagoon. They saw her make it and drive out to sea. But the _Misi_ and +_Cactus_, unable to get clear of each other, went ashore on the atoll +half a mile from the passage. The wind merely increased on itself and +continued to increase. To face the full blast of it required all one's +strength, and several minutes of crawling on deck against it tired a man +to exhaustion. Hermann, with his Kanakas, plodded steadily, lashing and +making secure, putting ever more gaskets on the sails. The wind ripped +and tore their thin undershirts from their backs. They moved slowly, as +if their bodies weighed tons, never releasing a hand-hold until another +had been secured. Loose ends of rope stood out stiffly horizontal, and, +when a whipping gave, the loose end frazzled and blew away. + +Mulhall touched one and then another and pointed to the shore. The +grass-sheds had disappeared, and Parlay's house rocked drunkenly, +Because the wind blew lengthwise along the atoll, the house had been +sheltered by the miles of cocoanut trees. But the big seas, breaking +across from outside, were undermining it and hammering it to pieces. +Already tilted down the slope of sand, its end was imminent. Here and +there in the cocoanut trees people had lashed themselves. The trees did +not sway or thresh about. Bent over rigidly from the wind, they remained +in that position and vibrated monstrously. Underneath, across the sand, +surged the white spume of the breakers. A big sea was likewise making +down the length of the lagoon. It had plenty of room to kick up in +the ten-mile stretch from the windward rim of the atoll, and all the +schooners were bucking and plunging into it. The _Malahini_ had begun +shoving her bow and fo'c'sle head under the bigger ones, and at times +her waist was filled rail-high with water. + +"Now's the time for your engine!" Grief bellowed; and Captain Warfield, +crawling over to where the engineer lay, shouted emphatic commands. + +Under the engine, going full speed ahead, the _Malahini_ behaved better. +While she continued to ship seas over her bow, she was not jerked down +so fiercely by her anchors. On the other hand, she was unable to get any +slack in the chains. The best her forty horsepower could do was to ease +the strain. + +Still the wind increased. The little _Nuhiva_, lying abreast of the +_Malahini_ and closer in to the beach, her engine still unrepaired and +her captain ashore, was having a bad time of it. She buried herself so +frequently and so deeply that they wondered each time if she could clear +herself of the water. At three in the afternoon buried by a second sea +before she could free herself of the preceding one, she did not come up. + +Mulhall looked at Grief. + +"Burst in her hatches," was the bellowed answer. + +Captain Warfield pointed to the _Winifred_, a little schooner plunging +and burying outside of them, and shouted in Grief's ear. His voice came +in patches of dim words, with intervals of silence when whisked away by +the roaring wind. + +"Rotten little tub... Anchors hold... But how she holds together... Old +as the ark----" + +An hour later Hermann pointed to her. Her for'ard bitts, foremast, and +most of her bow were gone, having been jerked out of her by her anchors. +She swung broadside, rolling in the trough and settling by the head, and +in this plight was swept away to leeward. + +Five vessels now remained, and of them the _Malahini_ was the only one +with an engine. Fearing either the _Nuhiva's_ or the _Winifdred's_ +fate, two of them followed the _Roberta's_ example, knocking out the +chain-shackles and running for the passage. The _Dolly_ was the first, +but her tarpaulin was carried away, and she went to destruction on the +lee-rim of the atoll near the _Misi_ and the _Cactus_. Undeterred by +this, the _Moana_ let go and followed with the same result. + +"Pretty good engine that, eh?" Captain Warfield yelled to his owner. + +Grief put out his hand and shook. "She's paying for herself!" he yelled +back. "The wind's shifting around to the southward, and we ought to lie +easier!" + +Slowly and steadily, but with ever-increasing velocity, the wind veered +around to the south and the southwest, till the three schooners that +were left pointed directly in toward the beach. The wreck of Parlay's +house was picked up, hurled into the lagoon, and blown out upon them. +Passing the _Malahini_, it crashed into the _Papara_, lying a quarter of +a mile astern. There was wild work for'ard on her, and in a quarter of +an hour the house went clear, but it had taken the _Papara's_ foremast +and bowsprit with it. + +Inshore, on their port bow, lay the _Tahaa_, slim and yacht-like, +but excessively oversparred. Her anchors still held, but her captain, +finding no abatement in the wind, proceeded to reduce windage by +chopping down his masts. + +"Pretty good engine that," Grief congratulated his skipper, "It will +save our sticks for us yet." + +Captain Warfield shook his head dubiously. + +The sea on the lagoon went swiftly down with the change of wind, but +they were beginning to feel the heave and lift of the outer sea breaking +across the atoll. There were not so many trees remaining. Some had been +broken short off, others uprooted. One tree they saw snap off halfway +up, three persons clinging to it, and whirl away by the wind into the +lagoon. Two detached themselves from it and swam to the Tahaa. Not +long after, just before darkness, they saw one jump overboard from that +schooner's stern and strike out strongly for the Malahini through the +white, spitting wavelets. + +"It's Tai-Hotauri," was Grief's judgment. "Now we'll have the news." + +The Kanaka caught the bobstay, climbed over the bow, and crawled aft. +Time was given him to breathe, and then, behind the part shelter of the +cabin, in broken snatches and largely by signs, he told his story. + +"Narii... damn robber... He want steal... pearls... Kill Parlay... One +man kill Parlay... No man know what man... Three Kanakas, Narii, me... +Five beans... hat... Narii say one bean black... Nobody know... Kill +Parlay... Narii damn liar... All beans black... Five black... Copra-shed +dark... Every man get black bean... Big wind come... No chance... +Everybody get up tree... No good luck them pearls... I tell you +before... No good luck." + +"Where's Parlay?" Grief shouted. + +"Up tree... Three of his Kanakas same tree. Narii and one Kanaka'nother +tree... My tree blow to hell, then I come on board." + +"Where's the pearls?" + +"Up tree along Parlay. Mebbe Narii get them pearl yet." + +In the ear of one after another Grief passed on Tai-Hotauri's story. +Captain Warfield was particularly incensed, and they could see him +grinding his teeth. + +Hermann went below and returned with a riding light, but the moment it +was lifted above the level of the cabin wall the wind blew it out. He +had better success with the binnacle lamp, which was lighted only after +many collective attempts. + +"A fine night of wind!" Grief yelled in Mulhall's ear. "And blowing +harder all the time." + +"How hard?" + +"A hundred miles an hour... two hundred... I don't know... Harder than +I've ever seen it." + +The lagoon grew more and more troubled by the sea that swept across +the atoll. Hundreds of leagues of ocean was being backed up by the +hurricane, which more than overcame the lowering effect of the ebb tide. +Immediately the tide began to rise the increase in the size of the seas +was noticeable. Moon and wind were heaping the South Pacific on Hikihoho +atoll. + +Captain Warfield returned from one of his periodical trips to the engine +room with the word that the engineer lay in a faint. + +"Can't let that engine stop!" he concluded helplessly. + +"All right!" Grief said, "Bring him on deck. I'll spell him." + +The hatch to the engine room was battened down, access being gained +through a narrow passage from the cabin. The heat and gas fumes were +stifling. Grief took one hasty, comprehensive examination of the engine +and the fittings of the tiny room, then blew out the oil-lamp. After +that he worked in darkness, save for the glow from endless cigars which +he went into the cabin to light. Even-tempered as he was, he soon began +to give evidences of the strain of being pent in with a mechanical +monster that toiled, and sobbed, and slubbered in the shouting dark. +Naked to the waist, covered with grease and oil, bruised and skinned +from being knocked about by the plunging, jumping vessel, his head +swimming from the mixture of gas and air he was compelled to breathe, +he laboured on hour after hour, in turns petting, blessing, nursing, and +cursing the engine and all its parts. The ignition began to go bad. The +feed grew worse. And worst of all, the cylinders began to heat. In +a consultation held in the cabin the half-caste engineer begged and +pleaded to stop the engine for half an hour in order to cool it and +to attend to the water circulation. Captain Warfield was against any +stopping. The half-caste swore that the engine would ruin itself and +stop anyway and for good. Grief, with glaring eyes, greasy and battered, +yelled and cursed them both down and issued commands. Mulhall, +the supercargo, and Hermann were set to work in the cabin at +double-straining and triple-straining the gasoline. A hole was chopped +through the engine room floor, and a Kanaka heaved bilge-water over the +cylinders, while Grief continued to souse running parts in oil. + +"Didn't know you were a gasoline expert," Captain Warfield admired when +Grief came into the cabin to catch a breath of little less impure air. + +"I bathe in gasoline," he grated savagely through his teeth. "I eat it." + +What other uses he might have found for it were never given, for at that +moment all the men in the cabin, as well as the gasoline being strained, +were smashed forward against the bulkhead as the _Malahini_ took an +abrupt, deep dive. For the space of several minutes, unable to gain +their feet, they rolled back and forth and pounded and hammered from +wall to wall. The schooner, swept by three big seas, creaked and groaned +and quivered, and from the weight of water on her decks behaved logily. +Grief crept to the engine, while Captain Warfield waited his chance to +get through the companion-way and out on deck. + +It was half an hour before he came back. + +"Whaleboat's gone!" he reported. "Galley's gone! Everything gone except +the deck and hatches! And if that engine hadn't been going we'd be gone! +Keep up the good work!" + +By midnight the engineer's lungs and head had been sufficiently cleared +of gas fumes to let him relieve Grief, who went on deck to get his own +head and lungs clear. He joined the others, who crouched behind +the cabin, holding on with their hands and made doubly secure by +rope-lashings. It was a complicated huddle, for it was the only place +of refuge for the Kanakas. Some of them had accepted the skipper's +invitation into the cabin but had been driven out by the fumes. The +_Malahini_ was being plunged down and swept frequently, and what they +breathed was air and spray and water commingled. + +"Making heavy weather of it, Mulhall!" Grief shouted to his guest +between immersions. + +Mulhall, strangling and choking, could only nod. The scuppers could not +carry off the burden of water on the schooner's deck. She rolled it out +and took it in over one rail and the other; and at times, nose thrown +skyward, sitting down on her heel, she avalanched it aft. It surged +along the poop gangways, poured over the top of the cabin, submerging +and bruising those that clung on, and went out over the stern-rail. + +Mulhall saw him first, and drew Grief's attention. It was Narii Herring, +crouching and holding on where the dim binnacle light shone upon him. He +was quite naked, save for a belt and a bare-bladed knife thrust between +it and the skin. + +Captain Warfield untied his lashings and made his way over the bodies of +the others. When his face became visible in the light from the binnacle +it was working with anger. They could see him speak, but the wind tore +the sound away. He would not put his lips to Narii's ear. Instead, he +pointed over the side. Narii Herring understood. His white teeth showed +in an amused and sneering smile, and he stood up, a magnificent figure +of a man. + +"It's murder!" Mulhall yelled to Grief. + +"He'd have murdered Old Parlay!" Grief yelled back. + +For the moment the poop was clear of water and the _Malahini_ on an even +keel. Narii made a bravado attempt to walk to the rail, but was flung +down by the wind. Thereafter he crawled, disappearing in the darkness, +though there was certitude in all of them that he had gone over the +side. The Malahini dived deep, and when they emerged from the flood that +swept aft, Grief got Mulhall's ear. + +"Can't lose him! He's the Fish Man of Tahiti! He'll cross the lagoon and +land on the other rim of the atoll if there's any atoll left!" + +Five minutes afterward, in another submergence, a mess of bodies poured +down on them over the top of the cabin. These they seized and held +till the water cleared, when they carried them below and learned their +identity. Old Parlay lay oh his back on the floor, with closed eyes and +without movement. The other two were his Kanaka cousins. All three were +naked and bloody. The arm of one Kanaka hung helpless and broken at his +side. The other man bled freely from a hideous scalp wound. + +"Narii did that?" Mulhall demanded. + +Grief shook his head. "No; it's from being smashed along the deck and +over the house!" + +Something suddenly ceased, leaving them in dizzying uncertainty. For +the moment it was hard to realize there was no wind. With the absolute +abruptness of a sword slash, the wind had been chopped off. The schooner +rolled and plunged, fetching up on her anchors with a crash which for +the first time they could hear. Also, for the first time they could hear +the water washing about on deck. The engineer threw off the propeller +and eased the engine down. + +"We're in the dead centre," Grief said. "Now for the shift. It will come +as hard as ever." He looked at the barometer. "29:32," he read. + +Not in a moment could he tone down the voice which for hours had battled +against the wind, and so loudly did he speak that in the quiet it hurt +the others' ears. + +"All his ribs are smashed," the supercargo said, feeling along Parlay's +side. "He's still breathing, but he's a goner." + +Old Parlay groaned, moved one arm impotently, and opened his eyes. In +them was the light of recognition. + +"My brave gentlemen," he whispered haltingly. "Don't forget... the +auction... at ten o'clock... in hell." + +His eyes dropped shut and the lower jaw threatened to drop, but he +mastered the qualms of dissolution long enough to omit one final, loud, +derisive cackle. + +Above and below pandemonium broke out. + +The old familiar roar of the wind was with them. The _Malahini_, caught +broadside, was pressed down almost on her beam ends as she swung the +arc compelled by her anchors. They rounded her into the wind, where she +jerked to an even keel. The propeller was thrown on, and the engine took +up its work again. + +"Northwest!" Captain Warfield shouted to Grief when he came on deck. +"Hauled eight points like a shot!" + +"Narii'll never get across the lagoon now!" Grief observed. + +"Then he'll blow back to our side, worse luck!" + + + + +V + +After the passing of the centre the barometer began to rise. Equally +rapid was the fall of the wind. When it was no more than a howling +gale, the engine lifted up in the air, parted its bed-plates with a last +convulsive effort of its forty horsepower, and lay down on its side. +A wash of water from the bilge sizzled over it and the steam arose in +clouds. The engineer wailed his dismay, but Grief glanced over the wreck +affectionately and went into the cabin to swab the grease off his chest +and arms with bunches of cotton waste. + +The sun was up and the gentlest of summer breezes blowing when he came +on deck, after sewing up the scalp of one Kanaka and setting the other's +arm. The _Malahini_ lay close in to the beach. For'ard, Hermann and the +crew were heaving in and straightening out the tangle of anchors. The +_Papara_ and the _Tahaa_ were gone, and Captain Warfield, through the +glasses, was searching the opposite rim of the atoll. + +"Not a stick left of them," he said. "That's what comes of not having +engines. They must have dragged across before the big shift came." + +Ashore, where Parlay's house had been, was no vestige of any house. For +the space of three hundred yards, where the sea had breached, no tree or +even stump was left. Here and there, farther along, stood an occasional +palm, and there were numbers which had been snapped off above the +ground. In the crown of one surviving palm Tai-Hotauri asserted he saw +something move. There were no boats left to the _Malahini_, and they +watched him swim ashore and climb the tree. + +When he came back, they helped over the rail a young native girl of +Parley's household. But first she passed up to them a battered basket. +In it was a litter of blind kittens--all dead save one, that feebly +mewed and staggered on awkward legs. + +"Hello!" said Mulhall. "Who's that?" + +Along the beach they saw a man walking. He moved casually, as if out +for a morning stroll. Captain Warfield gritted his teeth. It was Narii +Herring. + +"Hello, skipper!" Narii called, when he was abreast of them. "Can I come +aboard and get some breakfast?" + +Captain Warfield's face and neck began to swell and turn purple. He +tried to speak, but choked. + +"For two cents--for two cents----" was all he could manage to +articulate. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son Of The Sun, by Jack London + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + +***** This file should be named 21971.txt or 21971.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/9/7/21971/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Son Of The Sun + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: June 29, 2007 [EBook #21971] +Last Updated: March 3, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + A SON OF THE SUN + </h1> + <h2> + BY JACK LONDON <br /> <br /> <br /> 1912 + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <img alt="frontispiece (55K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" + height="819" width="623" /> <br /> <br /> <img alt="titlepage (41K)" + src="images/titlepage.jpg" height="927" width="606" /> <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0001"> Chapter One—A SON OF THE SUN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0003"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0004"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0005"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0006"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0007"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0008"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0002"> Chapter Two—THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS + PANKBURN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0010"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0011"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0012"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0013"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0014"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0015"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0016"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0003"> Chapter Three—THE DEVILS OF FUATINO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0018"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0019"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0020"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0021"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0022"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0023"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0024"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0025"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0026"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0004"> Chapter Four—THE JOKERS OF NEW GIBBON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0028"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0029"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0030"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0031"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0005"> Chapter Five—A LITTLE ACCOUNT WITH SWITHIN + HALL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0033"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0034"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0035"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0036"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0037"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0038"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0039"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0040"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0006"> Chapter Six—A GOBOTO NIGHT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0042"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0043"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0007"> Chapter Seven—THE FEATHERS OF THE SUN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0045"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0046"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0047"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0048"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0049"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0050"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0051"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0052"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2HCH0008"> Chapter Eight—THE PEARLS OF PARLAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0054"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0055"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0056"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0057"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#2H_4_0058"> V </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter One—A SON OF THE SUN + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + The <i>Willi-Waw</i> lay in the passage between the shore-reef and the + outer-reef. From the latter came the low murmur of a lazy surf, but the + sheltered stretch of water, not more than a hundred yards across to the + white beach of pounded coral sand, was of glass-like smoothness. Narrow as + was the passage, and anchored as she was in the shoalest place that gave + room to swing, the <i>Willi-Waw's</i> chain rode up-and-down a clean + hundred feet. Its course could be traced over the bottom of living coral. + Like some monstrous snake, the rusty chain's slack wandered over the ocean + floor, crossing and recrossing itself several times and fetching up + finally at the idle anchor. Big rock-cod, dun and mottled, played warily + in and out of the coral. Other fish, grotesque of form and colour, were + brazenly indifferent, even when a big fish-shark drifted sluggishly along + and sent the rock-cod scuttling for their favourite crevices. + </p> + <p> + On deck, for'ard, a dozen blacks pottered clumsily at scraping the teak + rail. They were as inexpert at their work as so many monkeys. In fact they + looked very much like monkeys of some enlarged and prehistoric type. Their + eyes had in them the querulous plaintiveness of the monkey, their faces + were even less symmetrical than the monkey's, and, hairless of body, they + were far more ungarmented than any monkey, for clothes they had none. + Decorated they were as no monkey ever was. In holes in their ears they + carried short clay pipes, rings of turtle shell, huge plugs of wood, rusty + wire nails, and empty rifle cartridges. The calibre of a Winchester rifle + was the smallest hole an ear bore; some of the largest holes were inches + in diameter, and any single ear averaged from three to half a dozen holes. + Spikes and bodkins of polished bone or petrified shell were thrust through + their noses. On the chest of one hung a white doorknob, on the chest of + another the handle of a china cup, on the chest of a third the brass + cogwheel of an alarm clock. They chattered in queer, falsetto voices, and, + combined, did no more work than a single white sailor. + </p> + <p> + Aft, under an awning, were two white men. Each was clad in a six-penny + undershirt and wrapped about the loins with a strip of cloth. Belted about + the middle of each was a revolver and tobacco pouch. The sweat stood out + on their skin in myriads of globules. Here and there the globules + coalesced in tiny streams that dripped to the heated deck and almost + immediately evaporated. The lean, dark-eyed man wiped his fingers wet with + a stinging stream from his forehead and flung it from him with a weary + curse. Wearily, and without hope, he gazed seaward across the outer-reef, + and at the tops of the palms along the beach. + </p> + <p> + “Eight o'clock, an' hell don't get hot till noon,” he complained. “Wisht + to God for a breeze. Ain't we never goin' to get away?” + </p> + <p> + The other man, a slender German of five and twenty, with the massive + forehead of a scholar and the tumble-home chin of a degenerate, did not + trouble to reply. He was busy emptying powdered quinine into a cigarette + paper. Rolling what was approximately fifty grains of the drug into a + tight wad, he tossed it into his mouth and gulped it down without the aid + of water. + </p> + <p> + “Wisht I had some whiskey,” the first man panted, after a fifteen-minute + interval of silence. + </p> + <p> + Another equal period elapsed ere the German enounced, relevant of nothing: + </p> + <p> + “I'm rotten with fever. I'm going to quit you, Griffiths, when we get to + Sydney. No more tropics for me. I ought to known better when I signed on + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “You ain't been much of a mate,” Griffiths replied, too hot himself to + speak heatedly. “When the beach at Guvutu heard I'd shipped you, they all + laughed. 'What? Jacobsen?' they said. 'You can't hide a square face of + trade gin or sulphuric acid that he won't smell out!' You've certainly + lived up to your reputation. I ain't had a drink for a fortnight, what of + your snoopin' my supply.” + </p> + <p> + “If the fever was as rotten in you as me, you'd understand,” the mate + whimpered. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't kickin',” Griffiths answered. “I only wisht God'd send me a + drink, or a breeze of wind, or something. I'm ripe for my next chill + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The mate proffered him the quinine. Rolling a fifty-grain dose, he popped + the wad into his mouth and swallowed it dry. + </p> + <p> + “God! God!” he moaned. “I dream of a land somewheres where they ain't no + quinine. Damned stuff of hell! I've scoffed tons of it in my time.” + </p> + <p> + Again he quested seaward for signs of wind. The usual trade-wind clouds + were absent, and the sun, still low in its climb to meridian, turned all + the sky to heated brass. One seemed to see as well as feel this heat, and + Griffiths sought vain relief by gazing shoreward. The white beach was a + searing ache to his eyeballs. The palm trees, absolutely still, outlined + flatly against the unrefreshing green of the packed jungle, seemed so much + cardboard scenery. The little black boys, playing naked in the dazzle of + sand and sun, were an affront and a hurt to the sun-sick man. He felt a + sort of relief when one, running, tripped and fell on all-fours in the + tepid sea-water. + </p> + <p> + An exclamation from the blacks for'ard sent both men glancing seaward. + Around the near point of land, a quarter of a mile away and skirting the + reef, a long black canoe paddled into sight. + </p> + <p> + “Gooma boys from the next bight,” was the mate's verdict. + </p> + <p> + One of the blacks came aft, treading the hot deck with the unconcern of + one whose bare feet felt no heat. This, too, was a hurt to Griffiths, and + he closed his eyes. But the next moment they were open wide. + </p> + <p> + “White fella marster stop along Gooma boy,” the black said. + </p> + <p> + Both men were on their feet and gazing at the canoe. Aft could be seen the + unmistakable sombrero of a white man. Quick alarm showed itself on the + face of the mate. + </p> + <p> + “It's Grief,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Griffiths satisfied himself by a long look, then ripped out a wrathful + oath. + </p> + <p> + “What's he doing up here?” he demanded of the mate, of the aching sea and + sky, of the merciless blaze of sun, and of the whole superheated and + implacable universe with which his fate was entangled. + </p> + <p> + The mate began to chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “I told you you couldn't get away with it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + But Griffiths was not listening. + </p> + <p> + “With all his money, coming around like a rent collector,” he chanted his + outrage, almost in an ecstasy of anger. “He's loaded with money, he's + stuffed with money, he's busting with money. I know for a fact he sold his + Yringa plantations for three hundred thousand pounds. Bell told me so + himself last time we were drunk at Guvutu. Worth millions and millions, + and Shylocking me for what he wouldn't light his pipe with.” He whirled on + the mate. “Of course you told me so. Go on and say it, and keep on saying + it. Now just what was it you did tell me so?” + </p> + <p> + “I told you you didn't know him, if you thought you could clear the + Solomons without paying him. That man Grief is a devil, but he's straight. + I know. I told you he'd throw a thousand quid away for the fun of it, and + for sixpence fight like a shark for a rusty tin, I tell you I know. Didn't + he give his <i>Balakula</i> to the Queensland Mission when they lost their + <i>Evening Star</i> on San Cristobal?—and the <i>Balakula</i> worth + three thousand pounds if she was worth a penny? And didn't he beat up + Strothers till he lay abed a fortnight, all because of a difference of two + pound ten in the account, and because Strothers got fresh and tried to + make the gouge go through?” + </p> + <p> + “God strike me blind!” Griffiths cried in im-potency of rage. + </p> + <p> + The mate went on with his exposition. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you only a straight man can buck a straight man like him, and the + man's never hit the Solomons that could do it. Men like you and me can't + buck him. We're too rotten, too rotten all the way through. You've got + plenty more than twelve hundred quid below. Pay him, and get it over + with.” + </p> + <p> + But Griffiths gritted his teeth and drew his thin lips tightly across + them. + </p> + <p> + “I'll buck him,” he muttered—more to himself and the brazen ball of + sun than to the mate. He turned and half started to go below, then turned + back again. “Look here, Jacob-sen. He won't be here for quarter of an + hour. Are you with me? Will you stand by me?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'll stand by you. I've drunk all your whiskey, haven't I? What + are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to kill him if I can help it. But I'm not going to pay. + Take that flat.” + </p> + <p> + Jacobsen shrugged his shoulders in calm acquiescence to fate, and + Griffiths stepped to the companionway and went below. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Jacobsen watched the canoe across the low reef as it came abreast and + passed on to the entrance of the passage. Griffiths, with ink-marks on + right thumb and forefinger, returned on deck Fifteen minutes later the + canoe came alongside. The man with the sombrero stood up. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Griffiths!” he said. “Hello, Jacobsen!” With his hand on the rail + he turned to his dusky crew. “You fella boy stop along canoe altogether.” + </p> + <p> + As he swung over the rail and stepped on deck a hint of catlike litheness + showed in the apparently heavy body. Like the other two, he was scantily + clad. The cheap undershirt and white loin-cloth did not serve to hide the + well put up body. Heavy muscled he was, but he was not lumped and + hummocked by muscles. They were softly rounded, and, when they did move, + slid softly and silkily under the smooth, tanned skin. Ardent suns had + likewise tanned his face till it was swarthy as a Spaniard's. The yellow + mustache appeared incongruous in the midst of such swarthiness, while the + clear blue of the eyes produced a feeling of shock on the beholder. It was + difficult to realize that the skin of this man had once been fair. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you blow in from?” Griffiths asked, as they shook hands. “I + thought you were over in the Santa Cruz.” + </p> + <p> + “I was,” the newcomer answered. “But we made a quick passage. The <i>Wonder's</i> + just around in the bight at Gooma, waiting for wind. Some of the bushmen + reported a ketch here, and I just dropped around to see. Well, how goes + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much. Copra sheds mostly empty, and not half a dozen tons of + ivory nuts. The women all got rotten with fever and quit, and the men + can't chase them back into the swamps. They're a sick crowd. I'd ask you + to have a drink, but the mate finished off my last bottle. I wisht to God + for a breeze of wind.” + </p> + <p> + Grief, glancing with keen carelessness from one to the other, laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad the calm held,” he said. “It enabled me to get around to see + you. My supercargo dug up that little note of yours, and I brought it + along.” + </p> + <p> + The mate edged politely away, leaving his skipper to face his trouble. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Grief, damned sorry,” Griffiths said, “but I ain't got it. + You'll have to give me a little more time.” + </p> + <p> + Grief leaned up against the companionway, surprise and pain depicted on + his face. + </p> + <p> + “It does beat hell,” he communed, “how men learn to lie in the Solomons. + The truth's not in them. Now take Captain Jensen. I'd sworn by his + truthfulness. Why, he told me only five days ago—do you want to know + what he told me?” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths licked his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he told me that you'd sold out—sold out everything, cleaned + up, and was pulling out for the New Hebrides.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a damned liar!” Griffiths cried hotly. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I should say so. He even had the nerve to tell me that he'd bought two of + your stations from you—Mauri and Kahula. Said he paid you seventeen + hundred gold sovereigns, lock, stock and barrel, good will, trade-goods, + credit, and copra.” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths's eyes narrowed and glinted. The action was involuntary, and + Grief noted it with a lazy sweep of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And Parsons, your trader at Hickimavi, told me that the Fulcrum Company + had bought that station from you. Now what did he want to lie for?” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths, overwrought by sun and sickness, exploded. All his bitterness + of spirit rose up in his face and twisted his mouth into a snarl. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Grief, what's the good of playing with me that way? You know, + and I know you know. Let it go at that. I <i>have</i> sold out, and I <i>am</i> + getting away. And what are you going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + Grief shrugged his shoulders, and no hint of resolve shadowed itself in + his own face. His expression was as of one in a quandary. + </p> + <p> + “There's no law here,” Griffiths pressed home his advantage. “Tulagi is a + hundred and fifty miles away. I've got my clearance papers, and I'm on my + own boat. There's nothing to stop me from sailing. You've got no right to + stop me just because I owe you a little money. And by God! you can't stop + me. Put that in your pipe.” + </p> + <p> + The look of pained surprise on Grief's face deepened. + </p> + <p> + “You mean you're going to cheat me out of that twelve hundred, Griffiths?” + </p> + <p> + “That's just about the size of it, old man. And calling hard names won't + help any. There's the wind coming. You'd better get overside before I pull + out, or I'll tow your canoe under.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Griffiths, you sound almost right. I can't stop you.” Grief + fumbled in the pouch that hung on his revolver-belt and pulled out a + crumpled official-looking paper. “But maybe this will stop you. And it's + something for <i>your</i> pipe. Smoke up.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “An admiralty warrant. Running to the New Hebrides won't save you. It can + be served anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths hesitated and swallowed, when he had finished glancing at the + document. With knit brows he pondered this new phase of the situation. + Then, abruptly, as he looked up, his face relaxed into all frankness. + </p> + <p> + “You were cleverer than I thought, old man,” he said. “You've got me hip + and thigh. I ought to have known better than to try and beat you. Jacobsen + told me I couldn't, and I wouldn't listen to him. But he was right, and so + are you. I've got the money below. Come on down and we'll settle.” + </p> + <p> + He started to go down, then stepped aside to let his visitor precede him, + at the same time glancing seaward to where the dark flaw of wind was + quickening the water. + </p> + <p> + “Heave short,” he told the mate. “Get up sail and stand ready to break + out.” + </p> + <p> + As Grief sat down on the edge of the mate's bunk, close against and facing + the tiny table, he noticed the butt of a revolver just projecting from + under the pillow. On the table, which hung on hinges from the for'ard + bulkhead, were pen and ink, also a battered log-book. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mind being caught in a dirty trick,” Griffiths was saying + defiantly. “I've been in the tropics too long. I'm a sick man, a damn sick + man. And the whiskey, and the sun, and the fever have made me sick in + morals, too. Nothing's too mean and low for me now, and I can understand + why the niggers eat each other, and take heads, and such things. I could + do it myself. So I call trying to do you out of that small account a + pretty mild trick. Wisht I could offer you a drink.” + </p> + <p> + Grief made no reply, and the other busied himself in attempting to unlock + a large and much-dented cash-box. From on deck came falsetto cries and the + creak and rattle of blocks as the black crew swung up mainsail and driver. + Grief watched a large cockroach crawling over the greasy paintwork. + Griffiths, with an oath of irritation, carried the cash-box to the + companion-steps for better light. Here, on his feet, and bending over the + box, his back to his visitor, his hands shot out to the rifle that stood + beside the steps, and at the same moment he whirled about. + </p> + <p> + “Now don't you move a muscle,” he commanded. + </p> + <p> + Grief smiled, elevated his eyebrows quizzically, and obeyed. His left hand + rested on the bunk beside him; his right hand lay on the table. + </p> + <p> + His revolver hung on his right hip in plain sight. But in his mind was + recollection of the other revolver under the pillow. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” Griffiths sneered. “You've got everybody in the Solomons + hypnotized, but let me tell you you ain't got me. Now I'm going to throw + you off my vessel, along with your admiralty warrant, but first you've got + to do something. Lift up that log-book.” + </p> + <p> + The other glanced curiously at the log-book, but did not move. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I'm a sick man, Grief; and I'd as soon shoot you as smash a + cockroach. Lift up that log-book, I say.” + </p> + <p> + Sick he did look, his lean face working nervously with the rage that + possessed him. Grief lifted the book and set it aside. Beneath lay a + written sheet of tablet paper. + </p> + <p> + “Read it,” Griffiths commanded. “Read it aloud.” + </p> + <p> + Grief obeyed; but while he read, the fingers of his left hand began an + infinitely slow and patient crawl toward the butt of the weapon under the + pillow. + </p> + <p> + “On board the ketch Willi-Waw, Bombi Bight, Island of Anna, Solomon + Islands,” he read. “Know all men by these presents that I do hereby sign + off and release in full, for due value received, all debts whatsoever + owing to me by Harrison J. Griffiths, who has this day paid to me twelve + hundred pounds sterling.” + </p> + <p> + “With that receipt in my hands,” Griffiths grinned, “your admiralty + warrant's not worth the paper it's written on. Sign it.” + </p> + <p> + “It won't do any good, Griffiths,” Grief said. “A document signed under + compulsion won't hold before the law.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, what objection have you to signing it then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, none at all, only that I might save you heaps of trouble by not + signing it.” + </p> + <p> + Grief's fingers had gained the revolver, and, while he talked, with his + right hand he played with the pen and with his left began slowly and + imperceptibly drawing the weapon to his side. As his hand finally closed + upon it, second finger on trigger and forefinger laid past the cylinder + and along the barrel, he wondered what luck he would have at left-handed + snap-shooting. + </p> + <p> + “Don't consider me,” Griffiths gibed. “And just remember Jacobsen will + testify that he saw me pay the money over. Now sign, sign in full, at the + bottom, David Grief, and date it.” + </p> + <p> + From on deck came the jar of sheet-blocks and the rat-tat-tat of the + reef-points against the canvas. In the cabin they could feel the <i>Willi-Waw</i> + heel, swing into the wind, and right. David Grief still hesitated. From + for'ard came the jerking rattle of headsail halyards through the sheaves. + The little vessel heeled, and through the cabin walls came the gurgle and + wash of water. + </p> + <p> + “Get a move on!” Griffiths cried. “The anchor's out.” + </p> + <p> + The muzzle of the rifle, four feet away, was bearing directly on him, when + Grief resolved to act. The rifle wavered as Griffiths kept his balance in + the uncertain puffs of the first of the wind. Grief took advantage of the + wavering, made as if to sign the paper, and at the same instant, like a + cat, exploded into swift and intricate action. As he ducked low and leaped + forward with his body, his left hand flashed from under the screen of the + table, and so accurately-timed was the single stiff pull on the + self-cocking trigger that the cartridge discharged as the muzzle came + forward. Not a whit behind was Griffiths. The muzzle of his weapon dropped + to meet the ducking body, and, shot at snap direction, rifle and revolver + went off simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + Grief felt the sting and sear of a bullet across the skin of his shoulder, + and knew that his own shot had missed. His forward rush carried him to + Griffiths before another shot could be fired, both of whose arms, still + holding the rifle, he locked with a low tackle about the body. He shoved + the revolver muzzle, still in his left hand, deep into the other's + abdomen. Under the press of his anger and the sting of his abraded skin, + Grief's finger was lifting the hammer, when the wave of anger passed and + he recollected himself. Down the companion-way came indignant cries from + the Gooma boys in his canoe. + </p> + <p> + Everything was happening in seconds. There was apparently no pause in his + actions as he gathered Griffiths in his arms and carried him up the steep + steps in a sweeping rush. Out into the blinding glare of sunshine he came. + A black stood grinning at the wheel, and the <i>Willi-Waw</i>, heeled over + from the wind, was foaming along. Rapidly dropping astern was his Gooma + canoe. Grief turned his head. From amidships, revolver in hand, the mate + was springing toward him. With two jumps, still holding the helpless + Griffiths, Grief leaped to the rail and overboard. + </p> + <p> + Both men were grappled together as they went down; but Grief, with a quick + updraw of his knees to the other's chest, broke the grip and forced him + down. With both feet on Griffiths's shoulder, he forced him still deeper, + at the same time driving himself to the surface. Scarcely had his head + broken into the sunshine when two splashes of water, in quick succession + and within a foot of his face, advertised that Jacobsen knew how to handle + a revolver. There was a chance for no third shot, for Grief, filling his + lungs with air, sank down. Under water he struck out, nor did he come up + till he saw the canoe and the bubbling paddles overhead. As he climbed + aboard, the <i>Wlli-Waw</i> went into the wind to come about. + </p> + <p> + “Washee-washee!” Grief cried to his boys. “You fella make-um beach quick + fella time!” + </p> + <p> + In all shamelessness, he turned his back on the battle and ran for cover. + The <i>Willi-Waw</i>, compelled to deaden way in order to pick up its + captain, gave Grief his chance for a lead. The canoe struck the beach + full-tilt, with every paddle driving, and they leaped out and ran across + the sand for the trees. But before they gained the shelter, three times + the sand kicked into puffs ahead of them. Then they dove into the green + safety of the jungle. + </p> + <p> + Grief watched the <i>Willi-Waw</i> haul up close, go out the passage, then + slack its sheets as it headed south with the wind abeam. As it went out of + sight past the point he could see the topsail being broken out. One of the + Gooma boys, a black, nearly fifty years of age, hideously marred and + scarred by skin diseases and old wounds, looked up into his face and + grinned. + </p> + <p> + “My word,” the boy commented, “that fella skipper too much cross along + you.” + </p> + <p> + Grief laughed, and led the way back across the sand to the canoe. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + How many millions David Grief was worth no man in the Solomons knew, for + his holdings and ventures were everywhere in the great South Pacific. From + Samoa to New Guinea and even to the north of the Line his plantations were + scattered. He possessed pearling concessions in the Paumotus. Though his + name did not appear, he was in truth the German company that traded in the + French Marquesas. His trading stations were in strings in all the groups, + and his vessels that operated them were many. He owned atolls so remote + and tiny that his smallest schooners and ketches visited the solitary + agents but once a year. + </p> + <p> + In Sydney, on Castlereagh Street, his offices occupied three floors. But + he was rarely in those offices. He preferred always to be on the go + amongst the islands, nosing out new investments, inspecting and shaking up + old ones, and rubbing shoulders with fun and adventure in a thousand + strange guises. He bought the wreck of the great steamship <i>Gavonne</i> + for a song, and in salving it achieved the impossible and cleaned up a + quarter of a million. In the Louisiades he planted the first commercial + rubber, and in Bora-Bora he ripped out the South Sea cotton and put the + jolly islanders at the work of planting cacao. It was he who took the + deserted island of Lallu-Ka, colonized it with Polynesians from the + Ontong-Java Atoll, and planted four thousand acres to cocoanuts. And it + was he who reconciled the warring chief-stocks of Tahiti and swung the + great deal of the phosphate island of Hikihu. + </p> + <p> + His own vessels recruited his contract labour. They brought Santa Cruz + boys to the New Hebrides, New Hebrides boys to the Banks, and the + head-hunting cannibals of Malaita to the plantations of New Georgia. From + Tonga to the Gilberts and on to the far Louisiades his recruiters combed + the islands for labour. His keels plowed all ocean stretches. He owned + three steamers on regular island runs, though he rarely elected to travel + in them, preferring the wilder and more primitive way of wind and sail. + </p> + <p> + At least forty years of age, he looked no more than thirty. Yet + beachcombers remembered his advent among the islands a score of years + before, at which time the yellow mustache was already budding silkily on + his lip. Unlike other white men in the tropics, he was there because he + liked it. His protective skin pigmentation was excellent. He had been born + to the sun. One he was in ten thousand in the matter of sun-resistance. + The invisible and high-velocity light waves failed to bore into him. Other + white men were pervious. The sun drove through their skins, ripping and + smashing tissues and nerves, till they became sick in mind and body, + tossed most of the Decalogue overboard, descended to beastliness, drank + themselves into quick graves, or survived so savagely that war vessels + were sometimes sent to curb their license. + </p> + <p> + But David Grief was a true son of the sun, and he flourished in all its + ways. He merely became browner with the passing of the years, though in + the brown was the hint of golden tint that glows in the skin of the + Polynesian. Yet his blue eyes retained their blue, his mustache its + yellow, and the lines of his face were those which had persisted through + the centuries in his English race. English he was in blood, yet those that + thought they knew contended he was at least American born. Unlike them, he + had not come out to the South Seas seeking hearth and saddle of his own. + In fact, he had brought hearth and saddle with him. His advent had been in + the Paumotus. He arrived on board a tiny schooner yacht, master and owner, + a youth questing romance and adventure along the sun-washed path of the + tropics. He also arrived in a hurricane, the giant waves of which + deposited him and yacht and all in the thick of a cocoanut grove three + hundred yards beyond the surf. Six months later he was rescued by a + pearling cutter. But the sun had got into his blood. At Tahiti, instead of + taking a steamer home, he bought a schooner, outfitted her with + trade-goods and divers, and went for a cruise through the Dangerous + Archipelago. + </p> + <p> + As the golden tint burned into his face it poured molten out of the ends + of his fingers. His was the golden touch, but he played the game, not for + the gold, but for the game's sake. It was a man's game, the rough contacts + and fierce give and take of the adventurers of his own blood and of half + the bloods of Europe and the rest of the world, and it was a good game; + but over and beyond was his love of all the other things that go to make + up a South Seas rover's life—the smell of the reef; the infinite + exquisiteness of the shoals of living coral in the mirror-surfaced + lagoons; the crashing sunrises of raw colours spread with lawless cunning; + the palm-tufted islets set in turquoise deeps; the tonic wine of the + trade-winds; the heave and send of the orderly, crested seas; the moving + deck beneath his feet, the straining canvas overhead; the + flower-garlanded, golden-glowing men and maids of Polynesia, half-children + and half-gods; and even the howling savages of Melanesia, head-hunters and + man-eaters, half-devil and all beast. + </p> + <p> + And so, favoured child of the sun, out of munificence of energy and sheer + joy of living, he, the man of many millions, forbore on his far way to + play the game with Harrison J. Griffiths for a paltry sum. It was his + whim, his desire, his expression of self and of the sun-warmth that poured + through him. It was fun, a joke, a problem, a bit of play on which life + was lightly hazarded for the joy of the playing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + The early morning found the <i>Wonder</i> laying close-hauled along the + coast of Guadalcanal She moved lazily through the water under the dying + breath of the land breeze. To the east, heavy masses of clouds promised a + renewal of the southeast trades, accompanied by sharp puffs and rain + squalls. Ahead, laying along the coast on the same course as the <i>Wonder</i>, + and being slowly overtaken, was a small ketch. It was not the <i>Willi-Waw</i>, + however, and Captain Ward, on the <i>Wonder</i>, putting down his glasses, + named it the <i>Kauri</i>. + </p> + <p> + Grief, just on deck from below, sighed regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “If it had only been the <i>Willi-Waw</i>” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You do hate to be beaten,” Denby, the supercargo, remarked + sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly do.” Grief paused and laughed with genuine mirth. “It's my + firm conviction that Griffiths is a rogue, and that he treated me quite + scurvily yesterday. 'Sign,' he says, 'sign in full, at the bottom, and + date it,' And Jacobsen, the little rat, stood in with him. It was rank + piracy, the days of Bully Hayes all over again.” + </p> + <p> + “If you weren't my employer, Mr. Grief, I'd like to give you a piece of my + mind,” Captain Ward broke in. + </p> + <p> + “Go on and spit it out,” Grief encouraged. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—” The captain hesitated and cleared his throat. “With + all the money you've got, only a fool would take the risk you did with + those two curs. What do you do it for?” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly, I don't know, Captain. I just want to, I suppose. And can you + give any better reason for anything you do?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get your bally head shot off some fine day,” Captain Ward growled + in answer, as he stepped to the binnacle and took the bearing of a peak + which had just thrust its head through the clouds that covered + Guadalcanar. + </p> + <p> + The land breeze strengthened in a last effort, and the <i>Wonder</i>, + slipping swiftly through the water, ranged alongside the <i>Kauri</i> and + began to go by. Greetings flew back and forth, then David Grief called + out: + </p> + <p> + “Seen anything of the <i>Willi-Waw</i>?” + </p> + <p> + The captain, slouch-hatted and barelegged, with a rolling twist hitched + the faded blue <i>lava-lava</i> tighter around his waist and spat tobacco + juice overside. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” he answered. “Griffiths lay at Savo last night, taking on pigs and + yams and filling his water-tanks. Looked like he was going for a long + cruise, but he said no. Why? Did you want to see him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but if you see him first don't tell him you've seen me.” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded and considered, and walked for'ard on his own deck to + keep abreast of the faster vessel. + </p> + <p> + “Say!” he called. “Jacobsen told me they were coming down this afternoon + to Gabera. Said they were going to lay there to-night and take on sweet + potatoes.” + </p> + <p> + “Gabera has the only leading lights in the Solomons,” Grief said, when his + schooner had drawn well ahead. “Is that right, Captain Ward?” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And the little bight just around the point on this side, it's a rotten + anchorage, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “No anchorage. All coral patches and shoals, and a bad surf. That's where + the <i>Molly</i> went to pieces three years ago.” + </p> + <p> + Grief stared straight before him with lustreless eyes for a full minute, + as if summoning some vision to his inner sight. Then the corners of his + eyes wrinkled and the ends of his yellow mustache lifted in a smile. + </p> + <p> + “We'll anchor at Gabera,” he said. “And run in close to the little bight + this side. I want you to drop me in a whaleboat as you go by. Also, give + me six boys, and serve out rifles. I'll be back on board before morning.” + </p> + <p> + The captain's face took on an expression of suspicion, which swiftly slid + into one of reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just a little fun, skipper,” Grief protested with the apologetic air + of a schoolboy caught in mischief by an elder. + </p> + <p> + Captain Ward grunted, but Denby was all alertness. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to go along, Mr. Grief,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded consent. + </p> + <p> + “Bring some axes and bush-knives,” he said. “And, oh, by the way, a couple + of bright lanterns. See they've got oil in them.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + An hour before sunset the <i>Wonder</i> tore by the little bight. The wind + had freshened, and a lively sea was beginning to make. The shoals toward + the beach were already white with the churn of water, while those farther + out as yet showed no more sign than of discoloured water. As the schooner + went into the wind and backed her jib and staysail the whaleboat was swung + out. Into it leaped six breech-clouted Santa Cruz boys, each armed with a + rifle. Denby, carrying the lanterns, dropped into the stern-sheets. Grief, + following, paused on the rail. + </p> + <p> + “Pray for a dark night, skipper,” he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “You'll get it,” Captain Ward answered. “There's no moon anyway, and there + won't be any sky. She'll be a bit squally, too.” + </p> + <p> + The forecast sent a radiance into Grief's face, making more pronounced the + golden tint of his sunburn. He leaped down beside the supercargo. + </p> + <p> + “Cast off!” Captain Ward ordered. “Draw the headsails! Put your wheel + over! There! Steady! Take that course!” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Wonder</i> filled away and ran on around the point for Gabera, + while the whaleboat, pulling six oars and steered by Grief, headed for the + beach. With superb boatmanship he threaded the narrow, tortuous channel + which no craft larger than a whaleboat could negotiate, until the shoals + and patches showed seaward and they grounded on the quiet, rippling beach. + </p> + <p> + The next hour was filled with work. Moving about among the wild cocoanuts + and jungle brush, Grief selected the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Chop this fella tree; chop that fella tree,” he told his blacks. “No chop + that other fella,” he said, with a shake of head. + </p> + <p> + In the end, a wedge-shaped segment of jungle was cleared. Near to the + beach remained one long palm. At the apex of the wedge stood another. + Darkness was falling as the lanterns were lighted, carried up the two + trees, and made fast. + </p> + <p> + “That outer lantern is too high.” David Grief studied it critically. “Put + it down about ten feet, Denby.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The <i>Willi-Waw</i> was tearing through the water with a bone in her + teeth, for the breath of the passing squall was still strong. The blacks + were swinging up the big mainsail, which had been lowered on the run when + the puff was at its height. Jacobsen, superintending the operation, + ordered them to throw the halyards down on deck and stand by, then went + for'ard on the lee-bow and joined Griffiths. Both men stared with + wide-strained eyes at the blank wall of darkness through which they were + flying, their ears tense for the sound of surf on the invisible shore. It + was by this sound that they were for the moment steering. + </p> + <p> + The wind fell lighter, the scud of clouds thinned and broke, and in the + dim glimmer of starlight loomed the jungle-clad coast. Ahead, and well on + the lee-bow, appeared a jagged rock-point. Both men strained to it. + </p> + <p> + “Amboy Point,” Griffiths announced. “Plenty of water close up. Take the + wheel, Jacobsen, till we set a course. Get a move on!” + </p> + <p> + Running aft, barefooted and barelegged, the rainwater dripping from his + scant clothing, the mate displaced the black at the wheel. + </p> + <p> + “How's she heading?” Griffiths called. + </p> + <p> + “South-a-half-west!” + </p> + <p> + “Let her come up south-by-west! Got it?” + </p> + <p> + “Right on it!” + </p> + <p> + Griffiths considered the changed relation of Amboy Point to the <i>Willi-Waw</i>'s + course. + </p> + <p> + “And a-half-west!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “And a-half-west!” came the answer. “Right on it!” + </p> + <p> + “Steady! That'll do!” + </p> + <p> + “Steady she is!” Jacobsen turned the wheel over to the savage. “You steer + good fella, savve?” he warned. “No good fella, I knock your damn black + head off.” + </p> + <p> + Again he went for'ard and joined the other, and again the cloud-scud + thickened, the star-glimmer vanished, and the wind rose and screamed in + another squall. + </p> + <p> + “Watch that mainsail!” Griffiths yelled in the mate's ear, at the same + time studying the ketch's behaviour. + </p> + <p> + Over she pressed, and lee-rail under, while he measured the weight of the + wind and quested its easement. The tepid sea-water, with here and there + tiny globules of phosphorescence, washed about his ankles and knees. The + wind screamed a higher note, and every shroud and stay sharply chorused an + answer as the <i>Willi-Waw</i> pressed farther over and down. + </p> + <p> + “Down mainsail!” Griffiths yelled, springing to the peak-halyards, + thrusting away the black who held on, and casting off the turn. + </p> + <p> + Jacobsen, at the throat-halyards, was performing the like office. The big + sail rattled down, and the blacks, with shouts and yells, threw themselves + on the battling canvas. The mate, finding one skulking in the darkness, + flung his bunched knuckles into the creature's face and drove him to his + work. + </p> + <p> + The squall held at its high pitch, and under her small canvas the <i>Willi-Waw</i> + still foamed along. Again the two men stood for'ard and vainly watched in + the horizontal drive of rain. + </p> + <p> + “We're all right,” Griffiths said. “This rain won't last. We can hold this + course till we pick up the lights. Anchor in thirteen fathoms. You'd + better overhaul forty-five on a night like this. After that get the + gaskets on the mainsail. We won't need it.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour afterward his weary eyes were rewarded by a glimpse of two + lights. + </p> + <p> + “There they are, Jacobsen. I'll take the wheel. Run down the fore-staysail + and stand by to let go. Make the niggers jump.” + </p> + <p> + Aft, the spokes of the wheel in his hands, Griffiths held the course till + the two lights came in line, when he abruptly altered and headed directly + in for them. He heard the tumble and roar of the surf, but decided it was + farther away—as it should be, at Gabera. + </p> + <p> + He heard the frightened cry of the mate, and was grinding the wheel down + with all his might, when the <i>Willi-Waw</i> struck. At the same instant + her mainmast crashed over the bow. Five wild minutes followed. All hands + held on while the hull upheaved and smashed down on the brittle coral and + the warm seas swept over them. Grinding and crunching, the <i>Willi-Waw</i> + worked itself clear over the shoal patch and came solidly to rest in the + comparatively smooth and shallow channel beyond. + </p> + <p> + Griffiths sat down on the edge of the cabin, head bowed on chest, in + silent wrath and bitterness. Once he lifted his face to glare at the two + white lights, one above the other and perfectly in line. + </p> + <p> + “There they are,” he said. “And this isn't Gabera. Then what the hell is + it?” + </p> + <p> + Though the surf still roared and across the shoal flung its spray and + upper wash over them, the wind died down and the stars came out. Shoreward + came the sound of oars. + </p> + <p> + “What have you had?—an earthquake?” Griffiths called out. “The + bottom's all changed. I've anchored here a hundred times in thirteen + fathoms. Is that you, Wilson?” + </p> + <p> + A whaleboat came alongside, and a man climbed over the rail. In the faint + light Griffiths found an automatic Colt's thrust into his face, and, + looking up, saw David Grief. + </p> + <p> + “No, you never anchored here before,” Grief laughed. “Gabera's just around + the point, where I'll be as soon as I've collected that little sum of + twelve hundred pounds. We won't bother for the receipt. I've your note + here, and I'll just return it.” + </p> + <p> + “You did this!” Griffiths cried, springing to his feet in a sudden gust of + rage. “You faked those leading lights! You've wrecked me, and by—” + </p> + <p> + “Steady! Steady!” Grief's voice was cool and menacing. “I'll trouble you + for that twelve hundred, please.” + </p> + <p> + To Griffiths, a vast impotence seemed to descend upon him. He was + overwhelmed by a profound disgust—disgust for the sunlands and the + sun-sickness, for the futility of all his endeavour, for this blue-eyed, + golden-tinted, superior man who defeated him on all his ways. + </p> + <p> + “Jacobsen,” he said, “will you open the cash-box and pay this—this + bloodsucker—twelve hundred pounds?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Two—THE PROUD GOAT OF ALOYSIUS PANKBURN + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Quick eye that he had for the promise of adventure, prepared always for + the unexpected to leap out at him from behind the nearest cocoanut tree, + nevertheless David Grief received no warning when he laid eyes on Aloysius + Pankburn. It was on the little steamer <i>Berthe</i>. Leaving his schooner + to follow, Grief had taken passage for the short run across from Raiatea + to Papeete. When he first saw Aloysius Pankburn, that somewhat fuddled + gentleman was drinking a lonely cocktail at the tiny bar between decks + next to the barber shop. And when Grief left the barber's hands half an + hour later Aloysius Pankburn was still hanging over the bar still drinking + by himself. + </p> + <p> + Now it is not good for man to drink alone, and Grief threw sharp scrutiny + into his pass-ing glance. He saw a well-built young man of thirty, + well-featured, well-dressed, and evidently, in the world's catalogue, a + gentleman. But in the faint hint of slovenliness, in the shaking, eager + hand that spilled the liquor, and in the nervous, vacillating eyes, Grief + read the unmistakable marks of the chronic alcoholic. + </p> + <p> + After dinner he chanced upon Pankburn again. This time it was on deck, and + the young man, clinging to the rail and peering into the distance at the + dim forms of a man and woman in two steamer chairs drawn closely together, + was crying, drunkenly. Grief noted that the man's arm was around the + woman's waist. Aloysius Pankburn looked on and cried. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to weep about,” Grief said genially. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn looked at him, and gushed tears of profound self-pity. + </p> + <p> + “It's hard,” he sobbed. “Hard. Hard. That man's my business manager. I + employ him. I pay him a good screw. And that's how he earns it.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, why don't you put a stop to it?” Grief advised. + </p> + <p> + “I can't. She'd shut off my whiskey. She's my trained nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Fire <i>her</i>, then, and drink your head off.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't. He's got all my money. If I did, he wouldn't give me sixpence to + buy a drink with.” + </p> + <p> + This woful possibility brought a fresh wash of tears. Grief was + interested. Of all unique situations he could never have imagined such a + one as this. + </p> + <p> + “They were engaged to take care of me,” Pankburn was blubbering, “to keep + me away from the drink. And that's the way they do it, lollygagging all + about the ship and letting me drink myself to death. It isn't right, I + tell you. It isn't right. They were sent along with me for the express + purpose of not letting me drink, and they let me drink to swinishness as + long as I leave them alone. If I complain they threaten not to let me have + another drop. What can a poor devil do? My death will be on their heads, + that's all. Come on down and join me.” + </p> + <p> + He released his clutch on the rail, and would have fallen had Grief not + caught his arm. He seemed to undergo a transformation, to stiffen + physically, to thrust his chin forward aggressively, and to glint harshly + in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I won't let them kill me. And they'll be sorry. I've offered them fifty + thousand—later on, of course. They laughed. They don't know. But I + know.” He fumbled in his coat pocket and drew forth an object that flashed + in the faint light. “They don't know the meaning of that. But I do.” He + looked at Grief with abrupt suspicion. “What do you make out of it, eh? + What do you make out of it?” + </p> + <p> + David Grief caught a swift vision of an alcoholic degenerate putting a + very loving young couple to death with a copper spike, for a copper spike + was what he held in his hand, an evident old-fashioned ship-fastening. + </p> + <p> + “My mother thinks I'm up here to get cured of the booze habit. She doesn't + know. I bribed the doctor to prescribe a voyage. When we get to Papeete my + manager is going to charter a schooner and away we'll sail. But they don't + dream. They think it's the booze. I know. I only know. Good night, sir. + I'm going to bed—unless—er—you'll join me in a night + cap. One last drink, you know.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + In the week that followed at Papeete Grief caught numerous and bizarre + glimpses of Aloysius Pankburn. So did everybody else in the little island + capital; for neither the beach nor Lavina's boarding house had been so + scandalized in years. In midday, bareheaded, clad only in swimming trunks, + Aloysius Pankburn ran down the main street from Lavina's to the water + front. He put on the gloves with a fireman from the <i>Berthe</i> in a + scheduled four-round bout at the <i>Folies Bergères</i>, and was knocked + out in the second round. He tried insanely to drown himself in a two-foot + pool of water, dived drunkenly and splendidly from fifty feet up in the + rigging of the <i>Mariposa</i> lying at the wharf, and chartered the + cutter <i>Toerau</i> at more than her purchase price and was only saved by + his manager's refusal financially to ratify the agreement. He bought out + the old blind leper at the market, and sold breadfruit, plantains, and + sweet potatoes at such cut-rates that the gendarmes were called out to + break the rush of bargain-hunting natives. For that matter, three times + the gendarmes arrested him for riotous behaviour, and three times his + manager ceased from love-making long enough to pay the fines imposed by a + needy colonial administration. + </p> + <p> + Then the <i>Mariposa</i> sailed for San Francisco, and in the bridal suite + were the manager and the trained nurse, fresh-married. Before departing, + the manager had thoughtfully bestowed eight five-pound banknotes on + Aloysius, with the foreseen result that Aloysius awoke several days later + to find himself broke and perilously near to delirium tremens. Lavina, + famed for her good heart even among the driftage of South Pacific rogues + and scamps, nursed him around and never let it filter into his returning + intelligence that there was neither manager nor money to pay his board. + </p> + <p> + It was several evenings after this that David Grief, lounging under the + after deck awning of the <i>Kittiwake</i> and idly scanning the meagre + columns of the Papeete <i>Avant-Coureur</i>, sat suddenly up and almost + rubbed his eyes. It was unbelievable, but there it was. The old South Seas + Romance was not dead. He read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WANTED—To exchange a half interest in buried treasure, + worth five million francs, for transportation for one to an + unknown island in the Pacific and facilities for carrying + away the loot. Ask for FOLLY, at Lavina's. +</pre> + <p> + Grief looked at his watch. It was early yet, only eight o'clock. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carlsen,” he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. “Get the crew + for the whale-boat. I'm going ashore.” + </p> + <p> + The husky voice of the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half a dozen + strapping Rapa Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat. + </p> + <p> + “I came to see Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine,” David Grief told Lavina. + </p> + <p> + He noted the quick interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flung a + command in native across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. A few + minutes later a barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + Lavina's disappointment was evident. + </p> + <p> + “You're stopping aboard the <i>Kittiwake</i>, aren't you?” she said. “I'll + tell him you called.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is a <i>he?</i>” Grief queried. + </p> + <p> + Lavina nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you can do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only a + good-natured woman. I don't know. But he's a likable man, and he may be + telling the truth; I don't know. You'll know. You're not a soft-hearted + fool like me. Can't I mix you a cocktail?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Back on board his schooner and dozing in a deck chair under a + three-months-old magazine, David Grief was aroused by a sobbing, + slubbering noise from overside. He opened his eyes. From the Chilian + cruiser, a quarter of a mile away, came the stroke of eight bells. It was + midnight. From overside came a splash and another slubbering noise. To him + it seemed half amphibian, half the sounds of a man crying to himself and + querulously chanting his sorrows to the general universe. + </p> + <p> + A jump took David Grief to the low rail. Beneath, centred about the + slubbering noise, was an area of agitated phosphorescence. Leaning over, + he locked his hand under the armpit of a man, and, with pull and heave and + quick-changing grips, he drew on deck the naked form of Aloysius Pankburn. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't have a sou-markee,” he complained. “I had to swim it, and I + couldn't find your gangway. It was very miserable. Pardon me. If you have + a towel to put about my middle, and a good stiff drink, I'll be more + myself. I'm Mr. Folly, and you're the Captain Grief, I presume, who called + on me when I was out. No, I'm not drunk. Nor am I cold. This isn't + shivering. Lavina allowed me only two drinks to-day. I'm on the edge of + the horrors, that's all, and I was beginning to see things when I couldn't + find the gangway. If you'll take me below I'll be very grateful. You are + the only one that answered my advertisement.” + </p> + <p> + He was shaking pitiably in the warm night, and down in the cabin, before + he got his towel, Grief saw to it that a half-tumbler of whiskey was in + his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Now fire ahead,” Grief said, when he had got his guest into a shirt and a + pair of duck trousers. “What's this advertisement of yours? I'm + listening.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn looked at the whiskey bottle, but Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Captain, though I tell you on whatever is left of my honour + that I am not drunk—not in the least. Also, what I shall tell you is + true, and I shall tell it briefly, for it is clear to me that you are a + man of affairs and action. Likewise, your chemistry is good. To you + alcohol has never been a million maggots gnawing at every cell of you. + You've never been to hell. I am there now. I am scorching. Now listen. + </p> + <p> + “My mother is alive. She is English. I was born in Australia. I was + educated at York and Yale. I am a master of arts, a doctor of philosophy, + and I am no good. Furthermore, I am an alcoholic. I have been an athlete. + I used to swan-dive a hundred and ten feet in the clear. I hold several + amateur records. I am a fish. I learned the crawl-stroke from the first of + the Cavilles. I have done thirty miles in a rough sea. I have another + record. I have punished more whiskey than any man of my years. I will + steal sixpence from you for the price of a drink. Finally, I will tell you + the truth. + </p> + <p> + “My father was an American—an Annapolis man. He was a midshipman in + the War of the Rebellion. In '66 he was a lieutenant on the <i>Suwanee</i>. + Her captain was Paul Shirley. In '66 the Suwanee coaled at an island in + the Pacific which I do not care to mention, under a protectorate which did + not exist then and which shall be nameless. Ashore, behind the bar of a + public house, my father saw three copper spikes—ship's spikes.” + </p> + <p> + David Grief smiled quietly. + </p> + <p> + “And now I can tell you the name of the coaling station and of the + protectorate that came afterward,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And of the three spikes?” Pankburn asked with equal quietness. “Go ahead, + for they are in my possession now.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. They were behind German Oscar's bar at Peenoo-Peenee. Johnny + Black brought them there from off his schooner the night he died. He was + just back from a long cruise to the westward, fishing beche-de-mer and + sandalwood trading. All the beach knows the tale.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he urged. + </p> + <p> + “It was before my time, of course,” Grief explained. “I only tell what + I've heard. Next came the Ecuadoran cruiser, of all directions, in from + the westward, and bound home. Her officers recognized the spikes. Johnny + Black was dead. They got hold of his mate and logbook. Away to the + westward went she. Six months after, again bound home, she dropped in at + Peenoo-Peenee. She had failed, and the tale leaked out.” + </p> + <p> + “When the revolutionists were marching on Guayaquil,” Pankburn took it up, + “the federal officers, believing a defence of the city hopeless, salted + down the government treasure chest, something like a million dollars gold, + but all in English coinage, and put it on board the American schooner <i>Flirt</i>. + They were going to run at daylight. The American captain skinned out in + the middle of the night. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “It's an old story,” Grief resumed. “There was no other vessel in the + harbour. The federal leaders couldn't run. They put their backs to the + wall and held the city. Rohjas Salced, making a forced march from Quito, + raised the siege. The revolution was broken, and the one ancient steamer + that constituted the Ecuadoran navy was sent in pursuit of the <i>Flirt</i>. + They caught her, between the Banks Group and the New Hebrides, hove to and + flying distress signals. The captain had died the day before—blackwater + fever.” + </p> + <p> + “And the mate?” Pankburn challenged. + </p> + <p> + “The mate had been killed a week earlier by the natives on one of the + Banks, when they sent a boat in for water. There were no navigators left. + The men were put to the torture. It was beyond international law. They + wanted to confess, but couldn't. They told of the three spikes in the + trees on the beach, but where the island was they did not know. To the + westward, far to the westward, was all they knew. The tale now goes two + ways. One is that they all died under the torture. The other is that the + survivors were swung at the yardarm. At any rate, the Ecuadoran cruiser + went home without the treasure. Johnny Black brought the three spikes to + Peenoo-Peenee, and left them at German Oscar's, but how and where he found + them he never told.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn looked hard at the whiskey bottle. + </p> + <p> + “Just two fingers,” he whimpered. + </p> + <p> + Grief considered, and poured a meagre drink. Pankburn's eyes sparkled, and + he took new lease of life. + </p> + <p> + “And this is where I come in with the missing details,” he said. “Johnny + Black did tell. He told my father. Wrote him from Levuka, before he came + on to die at Peenoo-Peenee. My father had saved his life one rough-house + night in Valparaiso. A Chink pearler, out of Thursday Island, prospecting + for new grounds to the north of New Guinea, traded for the three spikes + with a nigger. Johnny Black bought them for copper weight. He didn't dream + any more than the Chink, but coming back he stopped for hawksbill turtle + at the very beach where you say the mate of the <i>Flirt</i> was killed. + Only he wasn't killed. The Banks Islanders held him prisoner, and he was + dying of necrosis of the jawbone, caused by an arrow wound in the fight on + the beach. Before he died he told the yarn to Johnny Black. Johnny Black + wrote my father from Levuka. He was at the end of his rope—cancer. + My father, ten years afterward, when captain of the <i>Perry</i>, got the + spikes from German Oscar. And from my father, last will and testament, you + know, came the spikes and the data. I have the island, the latitude and + longitude of the beach where the three spikes were nailed in the trees. + The spikes are up at Lavina's now. The latitude and longitude are in my + head. Now what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Fishy,” was Grief's instant judgment. “Why didn't your father go and get + it himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't need it. An uncle died and left him a fortune. He retired from the + navy, ran foul of an epidemic of trained nurses in Boston, and my mother + got a divorce. Also, she fell heir to an income of something like thirty + thousand dollars, and went to live in New Zealand. I was divided between + them, half-time New Zealand, half-time United States, until my father's + death last year. Now my mother has me altogether. He left me his money—oh, + a couple of millions—but my mother has had guardians appointed on + account of the drink. I'm worth all kinds of money, but I can't touch a + penny save what is doled out to me. But the old man, who had got the tip + on my drinking, left me the three spikes and the data thereunto + pertaining. Did it through his lawyers, unknown to my mother; said it beat + life insurance, and that if I had the backbone to go and get it I could + drink my back teeth awash until I died. Millions in the hands of my + guardians, slathers of shekels of my mother's that'll be mine if she beats + me to the crematory, another million waiting to be dug up, and in the + meantime I'm cadging on Lavina for two drinks a day. It's hell, isn't it?—when + you consider my thirst.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the island?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a long way from here.” + </p> + <p> + “Name it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life, Captain Grief. You're making an easy half-million out + of this. You will sail under my directions, and when we're well to sea and + on our way I'll tell you and not before.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the subject. + </p> + <p> + “When I've given you another drink I'll send the boat ashore with you,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn was taken aback. For at least five minutes he debated with + himself, then licked his lips and surrendered. + </p> + <p> + “If you promise to go, I'll tell you now.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'm willing to go. That's why I asked you. Name the island.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn looked at the bottle. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take that drink now, Captain.” + </p> + <p> + “No you won't. That drink was for you if you went ashore. If you are going + to tell me the island, you must do it in your sober senses.” + </p> + <p> + “Francis Island, if you will have it. Bougainville named it Barbour + Island.” + </p> + <p> + “Off there all by its lonely in the Little Coral Sea,” Grief said. “I know + it. Lies between New Ireland and New Guinea. A rotten hole now, though it + was all right when the <i>Flirt</i> drove in the spikes and the Chink + pearler traded for them. The steamship <i>Castor</i>, recruiting labour + for the Upolu plantations, was cut off there with all hands two years ago. + I knew her captain well. The Germans sent a cruiser, shelled the bush, + burned half a dozen villages, killed a couple of niggers and a lot of + pigs, and—and that was all. The niggers always were bad there, but + they turned really bad forty years ago. That was when they cut off a + whaler. Let me see? What was her name?” + </p> + <p> + He stepped to the bookshelf, drew out the bulky “South Pacific Directory,” + and ran through its pages. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Here it is. Francis, or Barbour,” he skimmed. “Natives warlike and + treacherous—Melanesian—cannibals. Whaleship <i>Western</i> cut + off—that was her name. Shoals—points—anchorages—ah, + Redscar, Owen Bay, Likikili Bay, that's more like it; deep indentation, + mangrove swamps, good holding in nine fathoms when white scar in bluff + bears west-southwest.” Grief looked up. “That's your beach, Pankburn, I'll + swear.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you go?” the other demanded eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “It sounds good to me. Now if the story had been of a hundred millions, or + some such crazy sum, I wouldn't look at it for a moment. We'll sail + to-morrow, but under one consideration. You are to be absolutely under my + orders.” + </p> + <p> + His visitor nodded emphatically and joyously. + </p> + <p> + “And that means no drink.” + </p> + <p> + “That's pretty hard,” Pankburn whined. + </p> + <p> + “It's my terms. I'm enough of a doctor to see you don't come to harm. And + you are to work—hard work, sailor's work. You'll stand regular + watches and everything, though you eat and sleep aft with us.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a go.” Pankburn put out his hand to ratify the agreement. “If it + doesn't kill me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + David Grief poured a generous three-fingers into the tumbler and extended + it. + </p> + <p> + “Then here's your last drink. Take it.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn's hand went halfway out. With a sudden spasm of resolution, he + hesitated, threw back his shoulders, and straightened up his head. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I won't,” he began, then, feebly surrendering to the gnaw of + desire, he reached hastily for the glass, as if in fear that it would be + withdrawn. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + It is a long traverse from Papeete in the Societies to the Little Coral + Sea—from 100 west longitude to 150 east longitude—as the crow + flies the equivalent to a voyage across the Atlantic. But the <i>Kittiwake</i> + did not go as the crow flies. David Grief's numerous interests diverted + her course many times. He stopped to take a look-in at uninhabited Rose + Island with an eye to colonizing and planting cocoa-nuts. Next, he paid + his respects to Tui Manua, of Eastern Samoa, and opened an intrigue for a + share of the trade monopoly of that dying king's three islands. From Apia + he carried several relief agents and a load of trade goods to the + Gilberts. He peeped in at Ontong-Java Atoll, inspected his plantations on + Ysabel, and purchased lands from the salt-water chiefs of northwestern + Malaita. And all along this devious way he made a man of Aloysius + Pankburn. + </p> + <p> + That thirster, though he lived aft, was compelled to do the work of a + common sailor. And not only did he take his wheel and lookout, and heave + on sheets and tackles, but the dirtiest and most arduous tasks were + appointed him. Swung aloft in a bosun's chair, he scraped the masts and + slushed down. Holystoning the deck or scrubbing it with fresh limes made + his back ache and developed the wasted, flabby muscles. When the <i>Kittiwake</i> + lay at anchor and her copper bottom was scrubbed with cocoa-nut husks by + the native crew, who dived and did it under water, Pankburn was sent down + on his shift and as many times as any on the shift. + </p> + <p> + “Look at yourself,” Grief said. “You are twice the man you were when you + came on board. You haven't had one drink, you didn't die, and the poison + is pretty well worked out of you. It's the work. It beats trained nurses + and business managers. Here, if you're thirsty. Clap your lips to this.” + </p> + <p> + With several deft strokes of his heavy-backed sheath-knife, Grief clipped + a triangular piece of shell from the end of a husked drinking-cocoa-nut. + The thin, cool liquid, slightly milky and effervescent, bubbled to the + brim. With a bow, Pankburn took the natural cup, threw his head back, and + held it back till the shell was empty. He drank many of these nuts each + day. The black steward, a New Hebrides boy sixty years of age, and his + assistant, a Lark Islander of eleven, saw to it that he was continually + supplied. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn did not object to the hard work. He devoured work, never shirking + and always beating the native sailors in jumping to obey a command. But + his sufferings during the period of driving the alcohol out of his system + were truly heroic. Even when the last shred of the poison was exuded, the + desire, as an obsession, remained in his head. So it was, when, on his + honour, he went ashore at Apia, that he attempted to put the public houses + out of business by drinking up their stocks in trade. And so it was, at + two in the morning, that David Grief found him in front of the Tivoli, out + of which he had been disorderly thrown by Charley Roberts. Aloysius, as of + old, was chanting his sorrows to the stars. Also, and more concretely, he + was punctuating the rhythm with cobbles of coral stone, which he flung + with amazing accuracy through Charley Roberts's windows. + </p> + <p> + David Grief took him away, but not till next morning did he take him in + hand. It was on the deck of the <i>Kittiwake</i>, and there was nothing + kindergarten about it. Grief struck him, with bare knuckles, punched him + and punished him—gave him the worst thrashing he had ever received. + </p> + <p> + “For the good of your soul, Pankburn,” was the way he emphasized his + blows. “For the good of your mother. For the progeny that will come after. + For the good of the world, and the universe, and the whole race of man yet + to be. And now, to hammer the lesson home, we'll do it all over again. + That, for the good of your soul; and that, for your mother's sake; and + that, for the little children, undreamed of and unborn, whose mother + you'll love for their sakes, and for love's sake, in the lease of manhood + that will be yours when I am done with you. Come on and take your + medicine. I'm not done with you yet. I've only begun. There are many other + reasons which I shall now proceed to expound.” The brown sailors and the + black stewards and cook looked on and grinned. Far from them was the + questioning of any of the mysterious and incomprehensible ways of white + men. As for Carlsen, the mate, he was grimly in accord with the treatment + his employer was administering; while Albright, the supercargo, merely + played with his mustache and smiled. They were men of the sea. They lived + life in the rough. And alcohol, in themselves as well as in other men, was + a problem they had learned to handle in ways not taught in doctors' + schools. + </p> + <p> + “Boy! A bucket of fresh water and a towel,” Grief ordered, when he had + finished. “Two buckets and two towels,” he added, as he surveyed his own + hands. + </p> + <p> + “You're a pretty one,” he said to Pankburn. “You've spoiled everything. I + had the poison completely out of you. And now you are fairly reeking with + it. We've got to begin all over again. Mr. Albright! You know that pile of + old chain on the beach at the boat-landing. Find the owner, buy it, and + fetch it on board. There must be a hundred and fifty fathoms of it. + Pankburn! To-morrow morning you start in pounding the rust off of it. When + you've done that, you'll sandpaper it. Then you'll paint it. And nothing + else will you do till that chain is as smooth as new.” + </p> + <p> + Aloysius Pankburn shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I quit. Francis Island can go to hell for all of me. I'm done with your + slave-driving. Kindly put me ashore at once. I'm a white man. You can't + treat me this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carlsen, you will see that Mr. Pankburn remains on board.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have you broken for this!” Aloysius screamed. “You can't stop me.” + </p> + <p> + “I can give you another licking,” Grief answered. “And let me tell you one + thing, you besotted whelp, I'll keep on licking you as long as my knuckles + hold out or until you yearn to hammer chain rust. I've taken you in hand, + and I'm going to make a man out of you if I have to kill you to do it. Now + go below and change your clothes. Be ready to turn to with a hammer this + afternoon. Mr. Albright, get that chain aboard pronto. Mr. Carlsen, send + the boats ashore after it. Also, keep your eye on Pankburn. If he shows + signs of keeling over or going into the shakes, give him a nip—a + small one. He may need it after last night.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + For the rest of the time the <i>Kittiwake</i> lay in Apia Aloysius + Pankburn pounded chain rust. Ten hours a day he pounded. And on the long + stretch across to the Gilberts he still pounded. + </p> + <p> + Then came the sandpapering. One hundred and fifty fathoms is nine hundred + feet, and every link of all that length was smoothed and polished as no + link ever was before. And when the last link had received its second coat + of black paint, he declared himself. + </p> + <p> + “Come on with more dirty work,” he told Grief. “I'll overhaul the other + chains if you say so. And you needn't worry about me any more. I'm not + going to take another drop. I'm going to train up. You got my proud goat + when you beat me, but let me tell you, you only got it temporarily. Train! + I'm going to train till I'm as hard all the way through, and clean all the + way through, as that chain is. And some day, Mister David Grief, + somewhere, somehow, I'm going to be in such shape that I'll lick you as + you licked me. I'm going to pulp your face till your own niggers won't + know you.” + </p> + <p> + Grief was jubilant. + </p> + <p> + “Now you're talking like a man,” he cried. “The only way you'll ever lick + me is to become a man. And then, maybe—” + </p> + <p> + He paused in the hope that the other would catch the suggestion. Aloysius + groped for it, and, abruptly, something akin to illumination shone in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And then I won't want to, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And that's the curse of it,” Aloysius lamented. “I really believe I won't + want to. I see the point. But I'm going to go right on and shape myself up + just the same.” + </p> + <p> + The warm, sunburn glow in Grief's face seemed to grow warmer. His hand + went out. + </p> + <p> + “Pankburn, I love you right now for that.” + </p> + <p> + Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity. + </p> + <p> + “Grief,” he mourned, “you've got my goat, you've got my proud goat, and + you've got it permanently, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + On a sultry tropic day, when the last flicker of the far southeast trade + was fading out and the seasonal change for the northwest monsoon was + coming on, the <i>Kittiwake</i> lifted above the sea-rim the jungle-clad + coast of Francis Island. + </p> + <p> + Grief, with compass bearings and binoculars, identified the volcano that + marked Redscar, ran past Owen Bay, and lost the last of the breeze at the + entrance to Likikili Bay. With the two whaleboats out and towing, and with + Carl-sen heaving the lead, the <i>Kittiwake</i> sluggishly entered a deep + and narrow indentation. There were no beaches. The mangroves began at the + water's edge, and behind them rose steep jungle, broken here and there by + jagged peaks of rock. At the end of a mile, when the white scar on the + bluff bore west-southwest, the lead vindicated the “Directory,” and the + anchor rumbled down in nine fathoms. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of that day and until the afternoon of the day following they + remained on the <i>Kittiwake</i> and waited. No canoes appeared. There + were no signs of human life. Save for the occasional splash of a fish or + the screaming of cockatoos, there seemed no other life. Once, however, a + huge butterfly, twelve inches from tip to tip, fluttered high over their + mastheads and drifted across to the opposing jungle. + </p> + <p> + “There's no use in sending a boat in to be cut up,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn was incredulous, and volunteered to go in alone, to swim it if he + couldn't borrow the dingey. + </p> + <p> + “They haven't forgotten the German cruiser,” Grief explained. “And I'll + wager that bush is alive with men right now. What do you think, Mr. + Carlsen?” + </p> + <p> + That veteran adventurer of the islands was emphatic in his agreement. + </p> + <p> + In the late afternoon of the second day Grief ordered a whaleboat into the + water. He took his place in the bow, a live cigarette in his mouth and a + short-fused stick of dynamite in his hand, for he was bent on shooting a + mess of fish. Along the thwarts half a dozen Winchesters were placed. + Albright, who took the steering-sweep, had a Mauser within reach of hand. + They pulled in and along the green wall of vegetation. At times they + rested on the oars in the midst of a profound silence. + </p> + <p> + “Two to one the bush is swarming with them—in quids,” Albright + whispered. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn listened a moment longer and took the bet. Five minutes later + they sighted a school of mullet. The brown rowers held their oars. Grief + touched the short fuse to his cigarette and threw the stick. So short was + the fuse that the stick exploded in the instant after it struck the water. + And in that same instant the bush exploded into life. There were wild + yells of defiance, and black and naked bodies leaped forward like apes + through the mangroves. + </p> + <p> + In the whaleboat every rifle was lifted. Then came the wait. A hundred + blacks, some few armed with ancient Sniders, but the greater portion armed + with tomahawks, fire-hardened spears, and bone-tipped arrows, clustered on + the roots that rose out of the bay. No word was spoken. Each party watched + the other across twenty feet of water. An old, one-eyed black, with a + bristly face, rested a Snider on his hip, the muzzle directed at Albright, + who, in turn, covered him back with the Mauser. A couple of minutes of + this tableau endured. The stricken fish rose to the surface or struggled + half-stunned in the clear depths. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, boys,” Grief said quietly. “Put down your guns and over + the side with you. Mr. Albright, toss the tobacco to that one-eyed brute.” + </p> + <p> + While the Rapa men dived for the fish, Albright threw a bundle of trade + tobacco ashore. The one-eyed man nodded his head and writhed his features + in an attempt at amiability. Weapons were lowered, bows unbent, and arrows + put back in their quivers. + </p> + <p> + “They know tobacco,” Grief announced, as they rowed back aboard. “We'll + have visitors. You'll break out a case of tobacco, Mr. Albright, and a few + trade-knives. There's a canoe now.” + </p> + <p> + Old One-Eye, as befitted a chief and leader, paddled out alone, facing + peril for the rest of the tribe. As Carlsen leaned over the rail to help + the visitor up, he turned his head and remarked casually: + </p> + <p> + “They've dug up the money, Mr. Grief. The old beggar's loaded with it.” + </p> + <p> + One-Eye floundered down on deck, grinning appeasingly and failing to hide + the fear he had overcome but which still possessed him. He was lame of one + leg, and this was accounted for by a terrible scar, inches deep, which ran + down the thigh from hip to knee. No clothes he wore whatever, not even a + string, but his nose, perforated in a dozen places and each perforation + the setting for a carved spine of bone, bristled like a porcupine. Around + his neck and hanging down on his dirty chest was a string of gold + sovereigns. His ears were hung with silver half-crowns, and from the + cartilage separating his nostrils depended a big English penny, tarnished + and green, but unmistakable. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, Grief,” Pankburn said, with perfectly assumed carelessness. “You + say they know only beads and tobacco. Very well. You follow my lead. + They've found the treasure, and we've got to trade them out of it. Get the + whole crew aside and lecture them that they are to be interested only in + the pennies. Savve? Gold coins must be beneath contempt, and silver coins + merely tolerated. Pennies are to be the only desirable things.” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn took charge of the trading. For the penny in One-Eye's nose he + gave ten sticks of tobacco. Since each stick cost David Grief a cent, the + bargain was manifestly unfair. But for the half-crowns Pankburn gave only + one stick each. The string of sovereigns he refused to consider. The more + he refused, the more One-Eye insisted on a trade. At last, with an + appearance of irritation and anger, and as a palpable concession, Pankburn + gave two sticks for the string, which was composed of ten sovereigns. + </p> + <p> + “I take my hat off to you,” Grief said to Pankburn that night at dinner. + “The situation is patent. You've reversed the scale of value. They'll + figure the pennies as priceless possessions and the sovereigns as beneath + price. Result: they'll hang on to the pennies and force us to trade for + sovereigns. Pankburn, I drink your health! Boy!—another cup of tea + for Mr. Pankburn.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Followed a golden week. From dawn till dark a row of canoes rested on + their paddles two hundred feet away. This was the deadline. Rapa sailors, + armed with rifles, maintained it. But one canoe at a time was permitted + alongside, and but one black at a time was permitted to come over the + rail. Here, under the awning, relieving one another in hourly shifts, the + four white men carried on the trade. The rate of exchange was that + established by Pankburn with One-Eye. Five sovereigns fetched a stick of + tobacco; a hundred sovereigns, twenty sticks. Thus, a crafty-eyed cannibal + would deposit on the table a thousand dollars in gold, and go back over + the rail, hugely-satisfied, with forty cents' worth of tobacco in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hope we've got enough tobacco to hold out,” Carlsen muttered dubiously, + as another case was sawed in half. + </p> + <p> + Albright laughed. + </p> + <p> + “We've got fifty cases below,” he said, “and as I figure it, three cases + buy a hundred thousand dollars. There was only a million dollars buried, + so thirty cases ought to get it. Though, of course, we've got to allow a + margin for the silver and the pennies. That Ecuadoran bunch must have + salted down all the coin in sight.” + </p> + <p> + Very few pennies and shillings appeared, though Pankburn continually and + anxiously inquired for them. Pennies were the one thing he seemed to + desire, and he made his eyes flash covetously whenever one was produced. + True to his theory, the savages concluded that the gold, being of slight + value, must be disposed of first. A penny, worth fifty times as much as a + sovereign, was something to retain and treasure. Doubtless, in their + jungle-lairs, the wise old gray-beards put their heads together and agreed + to raise the price on pennies when the worthless gold was all worked off. + Who could tell? Mayhap the strange white men could be made to give even + twenty sticks for a priceless copper. + </p> + <p> + By the end of the week the trade went slack. There was only the slightest + dribble of gold. An occasional penny was reluctantly disposed of for ten + sticks, while several thousand dollars in silver came in. + </p> + <p> + On the morning of the eighth day no trading was done. The gray-beards had + matured their plan and were demanding twenty sticks for a penny, One-Eye + delivered the new rate of exchange. The white men appeared to take it with + great seriousness, for they stood together debating in low voices. Had + One-Eye understood English he would have been enlightened. + </p> + <p> + “We've got just a little over eight hundred thousand, not counting the + silver,” Grief said. “And that's about all there is. The bush tribes + behind have most probably got the other two hundred thousand. Return in + three months, and the salt-water crowd will have traded back for it; also + they will be out of tobacco by that time.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a sin to buy pennies,” Albright grinned. “It goes against the + thrifty grain of my trader's soul.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a whiff of land-breeze stirring,” Grief said, looking at + Pankburn. “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + Pankburn nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” Grief measured the faintness and irregularity of the wind + against his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carlsen, heave short, and get off the gaskets. And stand by with the + whaleboats to tow. This breeze is not dependable.” + </p> + <p> + He picked up a part case of tobacco, containing six or seven hundred + sticks, put it in One-Eye's hands, and helped that bewildered savage over + the rail. As the foresail went up the mast, a wail of consternation arose + from the canoes lying along the dead-line. And as the anchor broke out and + the <i>Kittiwake's</i> head paid off in the light breeze, old One-Eye, + daring the rifles levelled on him, paddled alongside and made frantic + signs of his tribe's willingness to trade pennies for ten sticks. + </p> + <p> + “Boy!—a drinking nut,” Pankburn called. + </p> + <p> + “It's Sydney Heads for you,” Grief said. “And then what?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm coming back with you for that two hundred thousand,” Pankburn + answered. “In the meantime I'm going to build an island schooner. Also, + I'm going to call those guardians of mine before the court to show cause + why my father's money should not be turned over to me. Show cause? I'll + show them cause why it should.” + </p> + <p> + He swelled his biceps proudly under the thin sleeve, reached for the two + black stewards, and put them above his head like a pair of dumbbells. + </p> + <p> + “Come on! Swing out on that fore-boom-tackle!” Carlsen shouted from aft, + where the mainsail was being winged out. + </p> + <p> + Pankburn dropped the stewards and raced for it, beating a Rapa sailor by + two jumps to the hauling part. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Three—THE DEVILS OF FUATINO + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Of his many schooners, ketches and cutters that nosed about among the + coral isles of the South Seas, David Grief loved most the <i>Rattler</i>—a + yacht-like schooner of ninety tons with so swift a pair of heels that she + had made herself famous, in the old days, opium-smuggling from San Diego + to Puget Sound, raiding the seal-rookeries of Bering Sea, and running arms + in the Far East. A stench and an abomination to government officials, she + had been the joy of all sailormen, and the pride of the shipwrights who + built her. Even now, after forty years of driving, she was still the same + old <i>Rattler</i>, fore-reaching in the same marvellous manner that + compelled sailors to see in order to believe and that punctuated many an + angry discussion with words and blows on the beaches of all the ports from + Valparaiso to Manila Bay. + </p> + <p> + On this night, close-hauled, her big mainsail preposterously flattened + down, her luffs pulsing emptily on the lift of each smooth swell, she was + sliding an easy four knots through the water on the veriest whisper of a + breeze. For an hour David Grief had been leaning on the rail at the lee + fore-rigging, gazing overside at the steady phosphorescence of her gait. + The faint back-draught from the headsails fanned his cheek and chest with + a wine of coolness, and he was in an ecstasy of appreciation of the + schooner's qualities. + </p> + <p> + “Eh!—She's a beauty, Taute, a beauty,” he said to the Kanaka + lookout, at the same time stroking the teak of the rail with an + affectionate hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, skipper,” the Kanaka answered in the rich, big-chested tones of + Polynesia. “Thirty years I know ships, but never like 'this. On Raiatea we + call her <i>Fanauao</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “The Dayborn,” Grief translated the love-phrase. “Who named her so?” + </p> + <p> + About to answer, Taute peered ahead with sudden intensity. Grief joined + him in the gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Land,” said Taute. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Fuatino,” Grief agreed, his eyes still fixed on the spot where the + star-luminous horizon was gouged by a blot of blackness. “It's all right. + I'll tell the captain.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Rattler</i> slid along until the loom of the island could be seen + as well as sensed, until the sleepy roar of breakers and the blatting of + goats could be heard, until the wind, off the land, was flower-drenched + with perfume. + </p> + <p> + “If it wasn't a crevice, she could run the passage a night like this,” + Captain Glass remarked regretfully, as he watched the wheel lashed hard + down by the steersman. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Rattler</i>, run off shore a mile, had been hove to to wait until + daylight ere she attempted the perilous entrance to Fuatino. It was a + perfect tropic night, with no hint of rain or squall. For'ard, wherever + their tasks left them, the Raiatea sailors sank down to sleep on deck. + Aft, the captain and mate and Grief spread their beds with similar languid + unconcern. They lay on their blankets, smoking and murmuring sleepy + conjectures about Mataara, the Queen of Fuatino, and about the love affair + between her daughter, Naumoo, and Motuaro. + </p> + <p> + “They're certainly a romantic lot,” Brown, the mate, said. “As romantic as + we whites.” + </p> + <p> + “As romantic as Pilsach,” Grief laughed, “and that is going some. How long + ago was it, Captain, that he jumped you?” + </p> + <p> + “Eleven years,” Captain Glass grunted resentfully. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about it,” Brown pleaded. “They say he's never left Fuatino + since. Is that right?” + </p> + <p> + “Right O,” the captain rumbled. “He's in love with his wife—the + little hussy! Stole him from me, and as good a sailorman as the trade has + ever seen—if he is a Dutchman.” + </p> + <p> + “German,” Grief corrected. + </p> + <p> + “It's all the same,” was the retort. “The sea was robbed of a good man + that night he went ashore and Notutu took one look at him. I reckon they + looked good to each other. Before you could say skat, she'd put a wreath + of some kind of white flowers on his head, and in five minutes they were + off down the beach, like a couple of kids, holding hands and laughing. I + hope he's blown that big coral patch out of the channel. I always start a + sheet or two of copper warping past.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on with the story,” Brown urged. + </p> + <p> + “That's all. He was finished right there. Got married that night. Never + came on board again. I looked him up next day. Found him in a straw house + in the bush, barelegged, a white savage, all mixed up with flowers and + things and playing a guitar. Looked like a bally ass. Told me to send his + things ashore. I told him I'd see him damned first. And that's all. You'll + see her to-morrow. They've got three kiddies now—wonderful little + rascals. I've a phonograph down below for him, and about a million + records.” + </p> + <p> + “And then you made him trader?” the mate inquired of Grief. + </p> + <p> + “What else could I do? Fuatino is a love island, and Filsach is a lover. + He knows the native, too—one of the best traders I've got, or ever + had. He's responsible. You'll see him to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, young man,” Captain Glass rumbled threateningly at his mate. + “Are you romantic? Because if you are, on board you stay. Fuatino's the + island of romantic insanity. Everybody's in love with somebody. They live + on love. It's in the milk of the cocoa-nuts, or the air, or the sea. The + history of the island for the last ten thousand years is nothing but love + affairs. I know. I've talked with the old men. And if I catch you starting + down the beach hand in hand—” + </p> + <p> + His sudden cessation caused both the other men to look at him. They + followed his gaze, which passed across them to the main rigging, and saw + what he saw, a brown hand and arm, muscular and wet, being joined from + overside by a second brown hand and arm. A head followed, thatched with + long elfin locks, and then a face, with roguish black eyes, lined with the + marks of wildwood's laughter. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” Brown breathed. “It's a faun—a sea-faun.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the Goat Man,” said Glass. + </p> + <p> + “It is Mauriri,” said Grief. “He is my own blood brother by sacred plight + of native custom. His name is mine, and mine is his.” + </p> + <p> + Broad brown shoulders and a magnificent chest rose above the rail, and, + with what seemed effortless ease, the whole grand body followed over the + rail and noiselessly trod the deck. Brown, who might have been other + things than the mate of an island schooner, was enchanted. All that he had + ever gleaned from the books proclaimed indubitably the faun-likeness of + this visitant of the deep. “But a sad faun,” was the young man's judgment, + as the golden-brown woods god strode forward to where David Grief sat up + with outstretched hand. + </p> + <p> + “David,” said David Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Mauriri, Big Brother,” said Mauriri. + </p> + <p> + And thereafter, in the custom of men who have pledged blood brotherhood, + each called the other, not by the other's name, but by his own. Also, they + talked in the Polynesian tongue of Fuatino, and Brown could only sit and + guess. + </p> + <p> + “A long swim to say <i>talofa</i>,” Grief said, as the other sat and + streamed water on the deck. + </p> + <p> + “Many days and nights have I watched for your coming, Big Brother,” + Mauriri replied. “I have sat on the Big Rock, where the dynamite is kept, + of which I have been made keeper. I saw you come up to the entrance and + run back into darkness. I knew you waited till morning, and I followed. + Great trouble has come upon us. Mataara has cried these many days for your + coming. She is an old woman, and Motauri is dead, and she is sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he marry Naumoo?” Grief asked, after he had shaken his head and + sighed by the custom. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. In the end they ran to live with the goats, till Mataara forgave, + when they returned to live with her in the Big House. But he is now dead, + and Naumoo soon will die. Great is our trouble, Big Brother. Tori is dead, + and Tati-Tori, and Petoo, and Nari, and Pilsach, and others.” + </p> + <p> + “Pilsach, too!” Grief exclaimed. “Has there been a sickness?” + </p> + <p> + “There has been much killing. Listen, Big Brother, Three weeks ago a + strange schooner came. From the Big Rock I saw her topsails above the sea. + She towed in with her boats, but they did not warp by the big patch, and + she pounded many times. She is now on the beach, where they are + strengthening the broken timbers. There are eight white men on board. They + have women from some island far to the east. The women talk a language in + many ways like ours, only different. But we can understand. They say they + were stolen by the men on the schooner. We do not know, but they sing and + dance and are happy.” + </p> + <p> + “And the men?” Grief interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “They talk French. I know, for there was a mate on your schooner who + talked French long ago. There are two chief men, and they do not look like + the others. They have blue eyes like you, and they are devils. One is a + bigger devil than the other. The other six are also devils. They do not + pay us for our yams, and taro, and breadfruit. They take everything from + us, and if we complain they kill us. Thus was killed Tori, and Tati-Tori, + and Petoo, and others. We cannot fight, for we have no guns—only two + or three old guns. + </p> + <p> + “They ill-treat our women. Thus was killed Motuaro, who made defence of + Naumoo, whom they have now taken on board their schooner. It was because + of this that Pilsach was killed. Him the chief of the two chief men, the + Big Devil, shot once in his whaleboat, and twice when he tried to crawl up + the sand of the beach. Pilsach was a brave man, and Notutu now sits in the + house and cries without end. Many of the people are afraid, and have run + to live with the goats. But there is not food for all in the high + mountains. And the men will not go out and fish, and they work no more in + the gardens because of the devils who take all they have. And we are ready + to fight. + </p> + <p> + “Big Brother, we need guns, and much ammunition. I sent word before I swam + out to you, and the men are waiting. The strange white men do not know you + are come. Give me a boat, and the guns, and I will go back before the sun. + And when you come to-morrow we will be ready for the word from you to kill + the strange white men. They must be killed. Big Brother, you have ever + been of the blood with us, and the men and women have prayed to many gods + for your coming. And you are come.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go in the boat with you,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + “No, Big Brother,” was Mauriri's reply. “You must be with the schooner. + The strange white men will fear the schooner, not us. We will have the + guns, and they will not know. It is only when they see your schooner come + that they will be alarmed. Send the young man there with the boat.” + </p> + <p> + So it was that Brown, thrilling with all the romance and adventure he had + read and guessed and never lived, took his place in the sternsheets of a + whaleboat, loaded with rifles and cartridges, rowed by four Baiatea + sailors, steered by a golden-brown, sea-swimming faun, and directed + through the warm tropic darkness toward the half-mythical love island of + Fuatino, which had been invaded by twentieth century pirates. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + If a line be drawn between Jaluit, in the Marshall Group, and + Bougainville, in the Solomons, and if this line be bisected at two degrees + south of the equator by a line drawn from Ukuor, in the Carolines, the + high island of Fuatino will be raised in that sun-washed stretch of lonely + sea. Inhabited by a stock kindred to the Hawaiian, the Samoan, the + Tahitian, and the Maori, Fuatino becomes the apex of the wedge driven by + Polynesia far to the west and in between Melanesia and Micronesia. And it + was Fuatino that David Grief raised next morning, two miles to the east + and in direct line with the rising sun. The same whisper of a breeze held, + and the <i>Rattler</i> slid through the smooth sea at a rate that would + have been eminently proper for an island schooner had the breeze been + thrice as strong. + </p> + <p> + Fuatino was nothing else than an ancient crater, thrust upward from the + sea-bottom by some primordial cataclysm. The western portion, broken and + crumbled to sea level, was the entrance to the crater itself, which + constituted the harbour. Thus, Fuatino was like a rugged horseshoe, the + heel pointing to the west. And into the opening at the heel the Rattler + steered. Captain Glass, binoculars in hand and peering at the chart made + by himself, which was spread on top the cabin, straightened up with an + expression on his face that was half alarm, half resignation. + </p> + <p> + “It's coming,” he said. “Fever. It wasn't due till to-morrow. It always + hits me hard, Mr. Grief. In five minutes I'll be off my head. You'll have + to con the schooner in. Boy! Get my bunk ready! Plenty of blankets! Fill + that hot-water bottle! It's so calm, Mr. Grief, that I think you can pass + the big patch without warping. Take the leading wind and shoot her. She's + the only craft in the South Pacific that can do it, and I know you know + the trick. You can scrape the Big Rock by just watching out for the main + boom.” + </p> + <p> + He had talked rapidly, almost like a drunken man, as his reeling brain + battled with the rising shock of the malarial stroke. When he stumbled + toward the companionway, his face was purpling and mottling as if attacked + by some monstrous inflammation or decay. His eyes were setting in a glassy + bulge, his hands shaking, his teeth clicking in the spasms of chill. + </p> + <p> + “Two hours to get the sweat,” he chattered with a ghastly grin. “And a + couple more and I'll be all right. I know the damned thing to the last + minute it runs its course. Y-y-you t-t-take ch-ch-ch-ch——” + </p> + <p> + His voice faded away in a weak stutter as he collapsed down into the cabin + and his employer took charge. The <i>Rattler</i> was just entering the + passage. The heels of the horseshoe island were two huge mountains of rock + a thousand feet high, each almost broken off from the mainland and + connected with it by a low and narrow peninsula. Between the heels was a + half-mile stretch, all but blocked by a reef of coral extending across + from the south heel. The passage, which Captain Glass had called a + crevice, twisted into this reef, curved directly to the north heel, and + ran along the base of the perpendicular rock. At this point, with the + main-boom almost grazing the rock on the port side, Grief, peering down on + the starboard side, could see bottom less than two fathoms beneath and + shoaling steeply. With a whaleboat towing for steerage and as a precaution + against back-draughts from the cliff, and taking advantage of a fan of + breeze, he shook the Rattler full into it and glided by the big coral + patch without warping. As it was, he just scraped, but so softly as not to + start the copper. + </p> + <p> + The harbour of Fuatino opened before him. It was a circular sheet of + water, five miles in diameter, rimmed with white coral beaches, from which + the verdure-clad slopes rose swiftly to the frowning crater walls. The + crests of the walls were saw-toothed, volcanic peaks, capped and halo'd + with captive trade-wind clouds. Every nook and crevice of the + disintegrating lava gave foothold to creeping, climbing vines and trees—a + green foam of vegetation. Thin streams of water, that were mere films of + mist, swayed and undulated downward in sheer descents of hundreds of feet. + And to complete the magic of the place, the warm, moist air was heavy with + the perfume of the yellow-blossomed <i>cassi</i>. + </p> + <p> + Fanning along against light, vagrant airs, the <i>Rattler</i> worked in. + Calling the whale-boat on board, Grief searched out the shore with his + binoculars. There was no life. In the hot blaze of tropic sun the place + slept. There was no sign of welcome. Up the beach, on the north shore, + where the fringe of cocoanut palms concealed the village, he could see the + black bows of the canoes in the canoe-houses. On the beach, on even keel, + rested the strange schooner. Nothing moved on board of her or around her. + Not until the beach lay fifty yards away did Grief let go the anchor in + forty fathoms. Out in the middle, long years before, he had sounded three + hundred fathoms without reaching bottom, which was to be expected of a + healthy crater-pit like Fuatino. As the chain roared and surged through + the hawse-pipe he noticed a number of native women, lusciously large as + only those of Polynesia are, in flowing <i>ahu's</i>, flower-crowned, + stream out on the deck of the schooner on the beach. Also, and what they + did not see, he saw from the galley the squat figure of a man steal + for'ard, drop to the sand, and dive into the green screen of bush. + </p> + <p> + While the sails were furled and gasketed, awnings stretched, and sheets + and tackles coiled harbour fashion, David Grief paced the deck and looked + vainly for a flutter of life elsewhere than on the strange schooner. Once, + beyond any doubt, he heard the distant crack of a rifle in the direction + of the Big Rock. There were no further shots, and he thought of it as some + hunter shooting a wild goat. + </p> + <p> + At the end of another hour Captain Glass, under a mountain of blankets, + had ceased shivering and was in the inferno of a profound sweat. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be all right in half an hour,” he said weakly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” Grief answered. “The place is dead, and I'm going ashore to + see Mataara and find out the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a tough bunch; keep your eyes open,” the captain warned him. “If + you're not back in an hour, send word off.” + </p> + <p> + Grief took the steering-sweep, and four of his Raiatea men bent to the + oars. As they landed on the beach he looked curiously at the women under + the schooner's awning. He waved his hand tentatively, and they, after + giggling, waved back. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Talofa!</i>” he called. + </p> + <p> + They understood the greeting, but replied, “<i>Iorana</i>,” and he knew + they came from the Society Group. + </p> + <p> + “Huahine,” one of his sailors unhesitatingly named their island. Grief + asked them whence they came, and with giggles and laughter they replied, + “Huahine.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks like old Dupuy's schooner,” Grief said, in Tahitian, speaking in + a low voice. “Don't look too hard. What do you think, eh? Isn't it the <i>Valetta?</i>” + </p> + <p> + As the men climbed out and lifted the whale-boat slightly up the beach + they stole careless glances at the vessel. + </p> + <p> + “It is the <i>Valetta</i>,” Taute said. “She carried her topmast away + seven years ago. At Papeete they rigged a new one. It was ten feet + shorter. That is the one.” + </p> + <p> + “Go over and talk with the women, you boys. You can almost see Huahine + from Raiatea, and you'll be sure to know some of them. Find out all you + can. And if any of the white men show up, don't start a row.” + </p> + <p> + An army of hermit crabs scuttled and rustled away before him as he + advanced up the beach, but under the palms no pigs rooted and grunted. The + cocoanuts lay where they had fallen, and at the copra-sheds there were no + signs of curing. Industry and tidiness had vanished. Grass house after + grass house he found deserted. Once he came upon an old man, blind, + toothless, prodigiously wrinkled, who sat in the shade and babbled with + fear when he spoke to him. It was as if the place had been struck with the + plague, was Grief's thought, as he finally approached the Big House. All + was desolation and disarray. There were no flower-crowned men and maidens, + no brown babies rolling in the shade of the avocado trees. In the doorway, + crouched and rocking back and forth, sat Mataara, the old queen. She wept + afresh at sight of him, divided between the tale of her woe and regret + that no follower was left to dispense to him her hospitality. + </p> + <p> + “And so they have taken Naumoo,” she finished. “Motauri is dead. My people + have fled and are starving with the goats. And there is no one to open for + you even a drinking cocoa-nut. O Brother, your white brothers be devils.” + </p> + <p> + “They are no brothers of mine, Mataara,” Grief consoled. “They are robbers + and pigs, and I shall clean the island of them——” + </p> + <p> + He broke off to whirl half around, his hand flashing to his waist and back + again, the big Colt's levelled at the figure of a man, bent double, that + rushed at him from out of the trees. He did not pull the trigger, nor did + the man pause till he had flung himself headlong at Grief's feet and begun + to pour forth a stream of uncouth and awful noises. He recognized the + creature as the one he had seen steal from the <i>Valetta</i> and dive + into the bush; but not until he raised him up and watched the contortions + of the hare-lipped mouth could he understand what he uttered. + </p> + <p> + “Save me, master, save me!” the man yammered, in English, though he was + unmistakably a South Sea native. “I know you! Save me!” + </p> + <p> + And thereat he broke into a wild outpour of incoherence that did not cease + until Grief seized him by the shoulders and shook him into silence. + </p> + <p> + “I know you,” Grief said. “You were cook in the French Hotel at Papeete + two years ago. Everybody called you 'Hare-Lip.'” + </p> + <p> + The man nodded violently. + </p> + <p> + “I am now cook of the <i>Valetta</i>,” he spat and spluttered, his mouth + writhing in a fearful struggle with its defect. “I know you. I saw you at + the hotel. I saw you at Lavina's. I saw you on the <i>Kittiwake</i>. I saw + you at the <i>Mariposa</i> wharf. You are Captain Grief, and you will save + me. Those men are devils. They killed Captain Dupuy. Me they made kill + half the crew. Two they shot from the cross-trees. The rest they shot in + the water. I knew them all. They stole the girls from Huahine. They added + to their strength with jail-men from Noumea. They robbed the traders in + the New Hebrides. They killed the trader at Vanikori, and stole two women + there. They——” + </p> + <p> + But Grief no longer heard. Through the trees, from the direction of the + harbour, came a rattle of rifles, and he started on the run for the beach. + Pirates from Tahiti and convicts from New Caledonia! A pretty bunch of + desperadoes that even now was attacking his schooner. Hare-Lip followed, + still spluttering and spitting his tale of the white devils' doings. + </p> + <p> + The rifle-firing ceased as abruptly as it had begun, but Grief ran on, + perplexed by ominous conjectures, until, in a turn of the path, he + encountered Mauriri running toward him from the beach. + </p> + <p> + “Big Brother,” the Goat Man panted, “I was too late. They have taken your + schooner. Come! For now they will seek for you.” + </p> + <p> + He started back up the path away from the beach. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Brown?” Grief demanded. + </p> + <p> + “On the Big Rock. I will tell you afterward. Come now!” + </p> + <p> + “But my men in the whaleboat?” + </p> + <p> + Mauriri was in an agony of apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “They are with the women on the strange schooner. They will not be killed. + I tell you true. The devils want sailors. But you they will kill. Listen!” + From the water, in a cracked tenor voice, came a French hunting song. + “They are landing on the beach. They have taken your schooner—that I + saw. Come!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Careless of his own life and skin, nevertheless David Grief was possessed + of no false hardihood. He knew when to fight and when to run, and that + this was the time for running he had no doubt. Up the path, past the old + men sitting in the shade, past Mataara crouched in the doorway of the Big + House, he followed at the heels of Mauriri. At his own heels, doglike, + plodded Hare-Lip. From behind came the cries of the hunters, but the pace + Mauriri led them was heartbreaking. The broad path narrowed, swung to the + right, and pitched upward. The last grass house was left, and through high + thickets of <i>cassi</i> and swarms of great golden wasps the way rose + steeply until it became a goat-track. Pointing upward to a bare shoulder + of volcanic rock, Mauriri indicated the trail across its face. + </p> + <p> + “Past that we are safe, Big Brother,” he said. “The white devils never + dare it, for there are rocks we roll down on their heads, and there is no + other path. Always do they stop here and shoot when we cross the rock. + Come!” + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later they paused where the trail went naked on the + face of the rock. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, and when you come, come quickly,” Mauriri cautioned. + </p> + <p> + He sprang into the blaze of sunlight, and from below several rifles pumped + rapidly. Bullets smacked about him, and puffs of stone-dust flew out, but + he won safely across. Grief followed, and so near did one bullet come that + the dust of its impact stung his cheek. Nor was Hare-Lip struck, though he + essayed the passage more slowly. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of the day, on the greater heights, they lay in a lava glen + where terraced taro and <i>papaia</i> grew. And here Grief made his plans + and learned the fulness of the situation. + </p> + <p> + “It was ill luck,” Mauriri said. “Of all nights this one night was + selected by the white devils to go fishing. It was dark as we came through + the passage. They were in boats and canoes. Always do they have their + rifles with them. One Raiatea man they shot. Brown was very brave. We + tried to get by to the top of the bay, but they headed us off, and we were + driven in between the Big Rock and the village. We saved the guns and all + the ammunition, but they got the boat. Thus they learned of your coming. + Brown is now on this side of the Big Rock with the guns and the + ammunition.” + </p> + <p> + “But why didn't he go over the top of the Big Rock and give me warning as + I came in from the sea?” Grief criticised. + </p> + <p> + “They knew not the way. Only the goats and I know the way. And this I + forgot, for I crept through the bush to gain the water and swim to you. + But the devils were in the bush shooting at Brown and the Raiatea men; and + me they hunted till daylight, and through the morning they hunted me there + in the low-lying land. Then you came in your schooner, and they watched + till you went ashore, and I got away through the bush, but you were + already ashore.” + </p> + <p> + “You fired that shot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; to warn you. But they were wise and would not shoot back, and it was + my last cartridge.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you, Hare-Lip?” Grief said to the <i>Valetta's</i> cook. + </p> + <p> + His tale was long and painfully detailed. For a year he had been sailing + out of Tahiti and through the Paumotus on the <i>Valetta</i>. Old Dupuy + was owner and captain. On his last cruise he had shipped two strangers in + Tahiti as mate and supercargo. Also, another stranger he carried to be his + agent on Fanriki. Raoul Van Asveld and Carl Lepsius were the names of the + mate and supercargo. + </p> + <p> + “They are brothers, I know, for I have heard them talk in the dark, on + deck, when they thought no one listened,” Hare-Lip explained. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Valetta</i> cruised through the Low Islands, picking up shell and + pearls at Dupuy's stations. Frans Amundson, the third stranger, relieved + Pierre Gollard at Fanriki. Pierre Gollard came on board to go back to + Tahiti. The natives of Fanriki said he had a quart of pearls to turn over + to Dupuy. The first night out from Fanriki there was shooting in the + cabin. Then the bodies of Dupuy and Pierre Gollard were thrown overboard. + The Tahitian sailors fled to the forecastle. For two days, with nothing to + eat and the <i>Valetta</i> hove to, they remained below. Then Raoul Van + Asveld put poison in the meal he made Hare-Lip cook and carry for'ard. + Half the sailors died. + </p> + <p> + “He had a rifle pointed at me, master; what could I do?” Hare-Lip + whimpered. “Of the rest, two went up the rigging and were shot. Fanriki + was ten miles away. The others went overboard to swim. They were shot as + they swam. I, only, lived, and the two devils; for me they wanted to cook + for them. That day, with the breeze, they went back to Fanrika and took on + Frans Amundson, for he was one of them.” + </p> + <p> + Then followed Hare-Lip's nightmare experiences as the schooner wandered on + the long reaches to the westward. He was the one living witness and knew + they would have killed him had he not been the cook. At Noumea five + convicts had joined them. Hare-Lip was never permitted ashore at any of + the islands, and Grief was the first outsider to whom he had spoken. + </p> + <p> + “And now they will kill me,” Hare-Lip spluttered, “for they will know I + have told you. Yet am I not all a coward, and I will stay with you, + master, and die with you.” + </p> + <p> + The Goat Man shook his head and stood up. + </p> + <p> + “Lie here and rest,” he said to Grief. “It will be a long swim to-night. + As for this cook-man, I will take him now to the higher places where my + brothers live with the goats.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + “It is well that you swim as a man should, Big Brother,” Mauriri + whispered. + </p> + <p> + From the lava glen they had descended to the head of the bay and taken to + the water. They swam softly, without splash, Mauriri in the lead. The + black walls of the crater rose about them till it seemed they swam on the + bottom of a great bowl. Above was the sky of faintly luminous star-dust. + Ahead they could see the light which marked the Rattler, and from her + deck, softened by distance, came a gospel hymn played on the phonograph + intended for Pilsach. + </p> + <p> + The two swimmers bore to the left, away from the captured schooner. + Laughter and song followed on board after the hymn, then the phonograph + started again. Grief grinned to himself at the appositeness of it as + “Lead, Kindly Light,” floated out over the dark water. + </p> + <p> + “We must take the passage and land on the Big Rock,” Mauriri whispered. + “The devils are holding the low land. Listen!” + </p> + <p> + Half a dozen rifle shots, at irregular intervals, attested that Brown + still held the Rock and that the pirates had invested the narrow + peninsula. + </p> + <p> + At the end of another hour they swam under the frowning loom of the Big + Rock. Mauriri, feeling his way, led the landing in a crevice, up which for + a hundred feet they climbed to a narrow ledge. + </p> + <p> + “Stay here,” said Mauriri. “I go to Brown. In the morning I shall return.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you, Brother,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + Mauriri laughed in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Even you, Big Brother, cannot do this thing. I am the Goat Man, and I + only, of all Fuatino, can go over the Big Rock in the night. Furthermore, + it will be the first time that even I have done it. Put out your hand. You + feel it? That is where Pilsach's dynamite is kept. Lie close beside the + wall and you may sleep without falling. I go now.” + </p> + <p> + And high above the sounding surf, on a narrow shelf beside a ton of + dynamite, David Grief planned his campaign, then rested his cheek on his + arm and slept. + </p> + <p> + In the morning, when Mauriri led him over the summit of the Big Rock, + David Grief understood why he could not have done it in the night. Despite + the accustomed nerve of a sailor for height and precarious clinging, he + marvelled that he was able to do it in the broad light of day. There were + places, always under minute direction of Mauriri, that he leaned forward, + falling, across hundred-foot-deep crevices, until his outstretched hands + struck a grip on the opposing wall and his legs could then be drawn across + after. Once, there was a ten-foot leap, above half a thousand feet of + yawning emptiness and down a fathom's length to a meagre foothold. And he, + despite his cool head, lost it another time on a shelf, a scant twelve + inches wide, where all hand-holds seemed to fail him. And Mauriri, seeing + him sway, swung his own body far out and over the gulf and passed him, at + the same time striking him sharply on the back to brace his reeling brain. + Then it was, and forever after, that he fully knew why Mauriri had been + named the Goat Man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + The defence of the Big Rock had its good points and its defects. + Impregnable to assault, two men could hold it against ten thousand. Also, + it guarded the passage to open sea. The two schooners, Raoul Van Asveld, + and his cutthroat following were bottled up. Grief, with the ton of + dynamite, which he had removed higher up the rock, was master. This he + demonstrated, one morning, when the schooners attempted to put to sea. The + <i>Valetta</i> led, the whaleboat towing her manned by captured Fuatino + men. Grief and the Goat Man peered straight down from a safe rock-shelter, + three hundred feet above. Their rifles were beside them, also a glowing + fire-stick and a big bundle of dynamite sticks with fuses and decanators + attached. As the whaleboat came beneath, Mauriri shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “They are our brothers. We cannot shoot.” + </p> + <p> + For'ard, on the <i>Valetta</i>, were several of Grief's own Raiatea + sailors. Aft stood another at the wheel. The pirates were below, or on the + other schooner, with the exception of one who stood, rifle in hand, + amidships. For protection he held Naumoo, the Queen's daughter, close to + him. + </p> + <p> + “That is the chief devil,” Mauriri whispered, “and his eyes are blue like + yours. He is a terrible man. See! He holds Naumoo that we may not shoot + him.” + </p> + <p> + A light air and a slight tide were making into the passage, and the + schooner's progress was slow. + </p> + <p> + “Do you speak English?” Grief called down. + </p> + <p> + The man startled, half lifted his rifle to the perpendicular, and looked + up. There was something quick and catlike in his movements, and in his + burned blond face a fighting eagerness. It was the face of a killer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered. “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “Turn back, or I'll blow your schooner up,” Grief warned. He blew on the + fire-stick and whispered, “Tell Naumoo to break away from him and run + aft.” + </p> + <p> + From the <i>Rattler</i>, close astern, rifles cracked, and bullets spatted + against the rock. Van Asveld laughed defiantly, and Mauriri called down in + the native tongue to the woman. When directly beneath, Grief, watching, + saw her jerk away from the man. On the instant Grief touched the + fire-stick to the match-head in the split end of the short fuse, sprang + into view on the face of the rock, and dropped the dynamite. Van Asveld + had managed to catch the girl and was struggling with her. The Goat Man + held a rifle on him and waited a chance. The dynamite struck the deck in a + compact package, bounded, and rolled into the port scupper. Van Asveld saw + it and hesitated, then he and the girl ran aft for their lives. The Goat + Man fired, but splintered the corner of the galley. The spattering of + bullets from the <i>Rattler</i> increased, and the two on the rock + crouched low for shelter and waited. Mauriri tried to see what was + happening below, but Grief held him back. + </p> + <p> + “The fuse was too long,” he said. “I'll know better next time.” + </p> + <p> + It was half a minute before the explosion came. What happened afterward, + for some little time, they could not tell, for the Rattler's marksmen had + got the range and were maintaining a steady fire. Once, fanned by a couple + of bullets, Grief risked a peep. The <i>Valetta</i>, her port deck and + rail torn away, was listing and sinking as she drifted back into the + harbour. Climbing on board the <i>Rattler</i> were the men and the Huahine + women who had been hidden in the <i>Valetta's</i> cabin and who had swum + for it under the protecting fire. The Fuatino men who had been towing in + the whaleboat had cast off the line, dashed back through the passage, and + were rowing wildly for the south shore. + </p> + <p> + From the shore of the peninsula the discharges of four rifles announced + that Brown and his men had worked through the jungle to the beach and were + taking a hand. The bullets ceased coming, and Grief and Mauriri joined in + with their rifles. But they could do no damage, for the men of the <i>Rattler</i> + were firing from the shelter of the deck-houses, while the wind and tide + carried the schooner farther in. + </p> + <p> + There was no sign of the <i>Valetta</i>, which had sunk in the deep water + of the crater. + </p> + <p> + Two things Raoul Van Asveld did that showed his keenness and coolness and + that elicited Grief's admiration. Under the <i>Rattler's</i> rifle fire + Raoul compelled the fleeing Fuatino men to come in and surrender. And at + the same time, dispatching half his cutthroats in the <i>Rattler's</i> + boat, he threw them ashore and across the peninsula, preventing Brown from + getting away to the main part of the island. And for the rest of the + morning the intermittent shooting told to Grief how Brown was being driven + in to the other side of the Big Rock. The situation was unchanged, with + the exception of the loss of the <i>Valetta</i>. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The defects of the position on the Big Rock were vital. There was neither + food nor water. For several nights, accompanied by one of the Raiatea men, + Mauriri swam to the head of the bay for supplies. Then came the night when + lights flared on the water and shots were fired. After that the water-side + of the Big Rock was invested as well. + </p> + <p> + “It's a funny situation,” Brown remarked, who was getting all the + adventure he had been led to believe resided in the South Seas. “We've got + hold and can't let go, and Raoul has hold and can't let go. He can't get + away, and we're liable to starve to death holding him.” + </p> + <p> + “If the rain came, the rock-basins would fill,” said Mauriri. It was their + first twenty-four hours without water. “Big Brother, to-night you and I + will get water. It is the work of strong men.” + </p> + <p> + That night, with cocoanut calabashes, each of quart capacity and tightly + stoppered, he led Grief down to the water from the peninsula side of the + Big Rock. They swam out not more than a hundred feet. Beyond, they could + hear the occasional click of an oar or the knock of a paddle against a + canoe, and sometimes they saw the flare of matches as the men in the + guarding boats lighted cigarettes or pipes. + </p> + <p> + “Wait here,” whispered Mauriri, “and hold the calabashes.” + </p> + <p> + Turning over, he swam down. Grief, face downward, watched his + phosphorescent track glimmer, and dim, and vanish. A long minute afterward + Mauriri broke surface noiselessly at Grief's side. + </p> + <p> + “Here! Drink!” + </p> + <p> + The calabash was full, and Grief drank sweet fresh water which had come up + from the depths of the salt. + </p> + <p> + “It flows out from the land,” said Mauriri. + </p> + <p> + “On the bottom?” + </p> + <p> + “No. The bottom is as far below as the mountains are above. Fifty feet + down it flows. Swim down until you feel its coolness.” + </p> + <p> + Several times filling and emptying his lungs in diver fashion, Grief + turned over and went down through the water. Salt it was to his lips, and + warm to his flesh; but at last, deep down, it perceptibly chilled and + tasted brackish. Then, suddenly, his body entered the cold, subterranean + stream. He removed the small stopper from the calabash, and, as the sweet + water gurgled into it, he saw the phosphorescent glimmer of a big fish, + like a sea ghost, drift sluggishly by. + </p> + <p> + Thereafter, holding the growing weight of the calabashes, he remained on + the surface, while Mauriri took them down, one by one, and filled them. + </p> + <p> + “There are sharks,” Grief said, as they swam back to shore. + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” was the answer. “They are fish sharks. We of Fuatino are brothers + to the fish sharks.” + </p> + <p> + “But the tiger sharks? I have seen them here.” + </p> + <p> + “When they come, Big Brother, we will have no more water to drink—unless + it rains.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + A week later Mauriri and a Raiatea man swam back with empty calabashes. + The tiger sharks had arrived in the harbour. The next day they thirsted on + the Big Rock. + </p> + <p> + “We must take our chance,” said Grief. “Tonight I shall go after water + with Mautau. Tomorrow night, Brother, you will go with Tehaa.” + </p> + <p> + Three quarts only did Grief get, when the tiger sharks appeared and drove + them in. There were six of them on the Rock, and a pint a day, in the + sweltering heat of the mid-tropics, is not sufficient moisture for a man's + body. The next night Mauriri and Tehaa returned with no water. And the day + following Brown learned the full connotation of thirst, when the lips + crack to bleeding, the mouth is coated with granular slime, and the + swollen tongue finds the mouth too small for residence. + </p> + <p> + Grief swam out in the darkness with Mautau. Turn by turn, they went down + through the salt, to the cool sweet stream, drinking their fill while the + calabashes were filling. It was Mau-tau's turn to descend with the last + calabash, and Grief, peering down from the surface, saw the glimmer of + sea-ghosts and all the phosphorescent display of the struggle. He swam + back alone, but without relinquishing the precious burden of full + calabashes. + </p> + <p> + Of food they had little. Nothing grew on the Rock, and its sides, covered + with shellfish at sea level where the surf thundered in, were too + precipitous for access. Here and there, where crevices permitted, a few + rank shellfish and sea urchins were gleaned. Sometimes frigate birds and + other sea birds were snared. Once, with a piece of frigate bird, they + succeeded in hooking a shark. After that, with jealously guarded + shark-meat for bait, they managed on occasion to catch more sharks. + </p> + <p> + But water remained their direst need. Mauriri prayed to the Goat God for + rain. Taute prayed to the Missionary God, and his two fellow islanders, + backsliding, invoked the deities of their old heathen days. Grief grinned + and considered. But Brown, wild-eyed, with protruding blackened tongue, + cursed. Especially he cursed the phonograph that in the cool twilights + ground out gospel hymns from the deck of the <i>Rattler</i>. One hymn in + particular, “Beyond the Smiling and the Weeping,” drove him to madness. It + seemed a favourite on board the schooner, for it was played most of all. + Brown, hungry and thirsty, half out of his head from weakness and + suffering, could lie among the rocks with equanimity and listen to the + tinkling of ukuleles and guitars, and the hulas and himines of the Huahine + women. But when the voices of the Trinity Choir floated over the water he + was beside himself. One evening the cracked tenor took up the song with + the machine: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Beyond the smiling and the weeping, + I shall be soon. + Beyond the waking and the sleeping, + Beyond the sowing and the reaping, + I shall be soon, + I shall be soon.” + </pre> + <p> + Then it was that Brown rose up. Again and again, blindly, he emptied his + rifle at the schooner. Laughter floated up from the men and women, and + from the peninsula came a splattering of return bullets; but the cracked + tenor sang on, and Brown continued to fire, until the hymn was played out. + </p> + <p> + It was that night that Grief and Mauriri came back with but one calabash + of water. A patch of skin six inches long was missing from Grief's + shoulder in token of the scrape of the sandpaper hide of a shark whose + dash he had eluded. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + In the early morning of another day, before the sun-blaze had gained its + full strength, came an offer of a parley from Raoul Van Asveld. + </p> + <p> + Brown brought the word in from the outpost among the rocks a hundred yards + away. Grief was squatted over a small fire, broiling a strip of + shark-flesh. The last twenty-four hours had been lucky. Seaweed and sea + urchins had been gathered. Tehaa had caught a shark, and Mauriri had + captured a fair-sized octopus at the base of the crevice where the + dynamite was stored. Then, too, in the darkness they had made two + successful swims for water before the tiger sharks had nosed them out. + </p> + <p> + “Said he'd like to come in and talk with you,” Brown said. “But I know + what the brute is after. Wants to see how near starved to death we are.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring him in,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + “And then we will kill him,” the Goat Man cried joyously. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “But he is a killer of men, Big Brother, a beast and a devil,” the Goat + Man protested. + </p> + <p> + “He must not be killed, Brother. It is our way not to break our word.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a foolish way.” + </p> + <p> + “Still it is our way,” Grief answered gravely, turning the strip of + shark-meat over on the coals and noting the hungry sniff and look of + Tehaa. “Don't do that, Tehaa, when the Big Devil comes. Look as if you and + hunger were strangers. Here, cook those sea urchins, you, and you, Big + Brother, cook the squid. We will have the Big Devil to feast with us. + Spare nothing. Cook all.” + </p> + <p> + And, still broiling meat, Grief arose as Raoul Van Asveld, followed by a + large Irish terrier, strode into camp. Raoul did not make the mistake of + holding out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he said. “I've heard of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I'd never heard of you,” Grief answered. + </p> + <p> + “Same here,” was the response. “At first, before I knew who it was, I + thought I had to deal with an ordinary trading captain. That's why you've + got me bottled up.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am ashamed to say that I underrated you,” Grief smiled. “I took you + for a thieving beachcomber, and not for a really intelligent pirate and + murderer. Hence, the loss of my schooner. Honours are even, I fancy, on + that score.” + </p> + <p> + Raoul flushed angrily under his sunburn, but he contained himself. His + eyes roved over the supply of food and the full water-calabashes, though + he concealed the incredulous surprise he felt. His was a tall, slender, + well-knit figure, and Grief, studying him, estimated his character from + his face. The eyes were keen and strong, but a bit too close together—not + pinched, however, but just a trifle near to balance the broad forehead, + the strong chin and jaw, and the cheekbones wide apart. Strength! His face + was filled with it, and yet Grief sensed in it the intangible something + the man lacked. + </p> + <p> + “We are both strong men,” Raoul said, with a bow. “We might have been + fighting for empires a hundred years ago.” + </p> + <p> + It was Grief's turn to bow. + </p> + <p> + “As it is, we are squalidly scrapping over the enforcement of the colonial + laws of those empires whose destinies we might possibly have determined a + hundred years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “It all comes to dust,” Raoul remarked sen-tentiously, sitting down. “Go + ahead with your meal. Don't let me interrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't you join us?” was Grief's invitation. + </p> + <p> + The other looked at him with sharp steadiness, then accepted. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sticky with sweat,” he said. “Can I wash?” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded and ordered Mauriri to bring a calabash. Raoul looked into + the Goat Man's eyes, but saw nothing save languid uninterest as the + precious quart of water was wasted on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “The dog is thirsty,” Raoul said. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded, and another calabash was presented to the animal. + </p> + <p> + Again Raoul searched the eyes of the natives and learned nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry we have no coffee,” Grief apologized. “You'll have to drink plain + water. A calabash, Tehaa. Try some of this shark. There is squid to + follow, and sea urchins and a seaweed salad. I'm sorry we haven't any + frigate bird. The boys were lazy yesterday, and did not try to catch any.” + </p> + <p> + With an appetite that would not have stopped at wire nails dipped in lard, + Grief ate perfunctorily, and tossed the scraps to the dog. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I haven't got down to the primitive diet yet,” he sighed, as + he sat back. “The tinned goods on the <i>Rattler</i>, now I could make a + hearty meal off of them, but this muck——” He took a half-pound + strip of broiled shark and flung it to the dog. “I suppose I'll come to it + if you don't surrender pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + Raoul laughed unpleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “I came to offer terms,” he said pointedly. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “There aren't any terms. I've got you where the hair is short, and I'm not + going to let go.” + </p> + <p> + “You think you can hold me in this hole!” Raoul cried. + </p> + <p> + “You'll never leave it alive, except in double irons.” Grief surveyed his + guest with an air of consideration. “I've handled your kind before. We've + pretty well cleaned it out of the South Seas. But you are a—how + shall I say?—a sort of an anachronism. You're a throwback, and we've + got to get rid of you. Personally, I would advise you to go back to the + schooner and blow your brains out. It is the only way to escape what + you've got coming to you.” + </p> + <p> + The parley, so far as Raoul was concerned, proved fruitless, and he went + back into his own lines convinced that the men on the Big Rock could hold + out for years, though he would have been swiftly unconvinced could he have + observed Tehaa and the Raiateans, the moment his back was turned and he + was out of sight, crawling over the rocks and sucking and crunching the + scraps his dog had left uneaten. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + “We hunger now, Brother,” Grief said, “but it is better than to hunger for + many days to come. The Big Devil, after feasting and drinking good water + with us in plenty, will not stay long in Fuatino. Even to-morrow may he + try to leave. To-night you and I sleep over the top of the Rock, and + Tehaa, who shoots well, will sleep with us if he can dare the Rock.” + </p> + <p> + Tehaa, alone among the Raiateans, was cragsman enough to venture the + perilous way, and dawn found him in a rock-barricaded nook, a hundred + yards to the right of Grief and Mauriri. + </p> + <p> + The first warning was the firing of rifles from the peninsula, where Brown + and his two Raiateans signalled the retreat and followed the besiegers + through the jungle to the beach. From the eyrie on the face of the rock + Grief could see nothing for another hour, when the <i>Rattler</i> + appeared, making for the passage. As before, the captive Fuatino men towed + in the whaleboat. Mauriri, under direction of Grief, called down + instructions to them as they passed slowly beneath. By Grief's side lay + several bundles of dynamite sticks, well-lashed together and with + extremely short fuses. + </p> + <p> + The deck of the <i>Rattler</i> was populous. For'ard, rifle in hand, among + the Raiatean sailors, stood a desperado whom Mauriri announced was Raoul's + brother. Aft, by the helmsman, stood another. Attached to him, tied waist + to waist, with slack, was Mataara, the old Queen. On the other side of the + helmsman, his arm in a sling, was Captain Glass. Amidships, as before, was + Raoul, and with him, lashed waist to waist, was Naumoo. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mister David Grief,” Raoul called up. + </p> + <p> + “And yet I warned you that only in double irons would you leave the + island,” Grief murmured down with a sad inflection. + </p> + <p> + “You can't kill all your people I have on board,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + The schooner, moving slowly, jerk by jerk, as the men pulled in the + whaleboat, was almost directly beneath. The rowers, without ceasing, + slacked on their oars, and were immediately threatened with the rifle of + the man who stood for'ard. + </p> + <p> + “Throw, Big Brother!” Naumoo called up in the Fuatino tongue. “I am filled + with sorrow and am willed to die. His knife is ready with which to cut the + rope, but I shall hold him tight. Be not afraid, Big Brother. Throw, and + throw straight, and good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Grief hesitated, then lowered the fire-stick which he had been blowing + bright. + </p> + <p> + “Throw!” the Goat Man urged. + </p> + <p> + Still Grief hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “If they get to sea, Big Brother, Naumoo dies just the same. And there are + all the others. What is her life against the many?” + </p> + <p> + “If you drop any dynamite, or fire a single shot, we'll kill all on + board,” Raoul cried up to them. “I've got you, David Grief. You can't kill + these people, and I can. Shut up, you!” + </p> + <p> + This last was addressed to Naumoo, who was calling up in her native tongue + and whom Raoul seized by the neck with one hand to choke to silence. In + turn, she locked both arms about him and looked up beseechingly to Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Throw it, Mr. Grief, and be damned to them,” Captain Glass rumbled in his + deep voice. “They're bloody murderers, and the cabin's full of them.” + </p> + <p> + The desperado who was fastened to the old Queen swung half about to menace + Captain Glass with his rifle, when Tehaa, from his position farther along + the Rock, pulled trigger on him. The rifle dropped from the man's hand, + and on his face was an expression of intense surprise as his legs crumpled + under him and he sank down on deck, dragging the Queen with him. + </p> + <p> + “Port! Hard a port!” Grief cried. + </p> + <p> + Captain Glass and the Kanaka whirled the wheel over, and the bow of the <i>Rattler</i> + headed in for the Rock. Amidships Raoul still struggled with Naumoo. His + brother ran from for'ard to his aid, being missed by the fusillade of + quick shots from Tehaa and the Goat Man. As Raoul's brother placed the + muzzle of his rifle to Naumoo's side Grief touched the fire-stick to the + match-head in the split end of the fuse. Even as with both hands he tossed + the big bundle of dynamite, the rifle went off, and Naumoo's fall to the + deck was simultaneous with the fall of the dynamite. This time the fuse + was short enough. The explosion occurred at the instant the deck was + reached, and that portion of the <i>Rattler</i>, along with Raoul, his + brother, and Naumoo, forever disappeared. + </p> + <p> + The schooner's side was shattered, and she began immediately to settle. + For'ard, every Raiatean sailor dived overboard. Captain Glass met the + first man springing up the com-panionway from the cabin, with a kick full + in the face, but was overborne and trampled on by the rush. Following the + desperadoes came the Huahine women, and as they went overboard, the <i>Rattler</i> + sank on an even keel close to the base of the Rock. Her cross-trees still + stuck out when she reached bottom. + </p> + <p> + Looking down, Grief could see all that occurred beneath the surface. He + saw Mataara, a fathom deep, unfasten herself from the dead pirate and swim + upward. As her head emerged she saw Captain Glass, who could not swim, + sinking several yards away. The Queen, old woman that she was, but an + islander, turned over, swam down to him, and held him up as she struck out + for the unsubmerged cross-trees. + </p> + <p> + Five heads, blond and brown, were mingled with the dark heads of Polynesia + that dotted the surface. Grief, rifle in hand, watched for a chance to + shoot. The Goat Man, after a minute, was successful, and they saw the body + of one man sink sluggishly. But to the Raiatean sailors, big and brawny, + half fish, was the vengeance given. Swimming swiftly, they singled out the + blond heads and the brown. Those from above watched the four surviving + desperadoes, clutched and locked, dragged far down beneath and drowned + like curs. + </p> + <p> + In ten minutes everything was over. The Huahine women, laughing and + giggling, were holding on to the sides of the whaleboat which had done the + towing. The Raiatean sailors, waiting for orders, were about the + cross-tree to which Captain Glass and Mataara clung. + </p> + <p> + “The poor old <i>Rattler</i>,” Captain Glass lamented. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort,” Grief answered. “In a week we'll have her raised, + new timbers amidships, and we'll be on our way.” And to the Queen, “How is + it with you, Sister?” + </p> + <p> + “Naumoo is gone, and Motauri, Brother, but Fuatino is ours again. The day + is young. Word shall be sent to all my people in the high places with the + goats. And to-night, once again, and as never before, we shall feast and + rejoice in the Big House.” + </p> + <p> + “She's been needing new timbers abaft the beam there for years,” quoth + Captain Glass. “But the chronometers will be out of commission for the + rest of the cruise.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Four—THE JOKERS OF NEW GIBBON + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + “I'm almost afraid to take you in to New Gibbon,” David Grief said. “It + wasn't until you and the British gave me a free hand and let the place + alone that any results were accomplished.” + </p> + <p> + Wallenstein, the German Resident Commissioner from Bougainville, poured + himself a long Scotch and soda and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “We take off our hats to you, Mr. Grief,” he said in perfectly good + English. “What you have done on the devil island is a miracle. And we + shall continue not to interfere. It <i>is</i> a devil island, and old Koho + is the big chief devil of them all. We never could bring him to terms. He + is a liar, and he is no fool. He is a black Napoleon, a head-hunting, + man-eating Talleyrand. I remember six years ago, when I landed there in + the British cruiser. The niggers cleared out for the bush, of course, but + we found several who couldn't get away. One was his latest wife. She had + been hung up by one arm in the sun for two days and nights. We cut her + down, but she died just the same. And staked out in the fresh running + water, up to their necks, were three more women. All their bones were + broken and their joints crushed. The process is supposed to make them + tender for the eating. They were still alive. Their vitality was + remarkable. One woman, the oldest, lingered nearly ten days. Well, that + was a sample of Koho's diet. No wonder he's a wild beast. How you ever + pacified him is our everlasting puzzlement.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't call him exactly pacified,” Grief answered. “Though he comes + in once in a while and eats out of the hand.” + </p> + <p> + “That's more than we accomplished with our cruisers. Neither the German + nor the English ever laid eyes on him. You were the first.” + </p> + <p> + “No; McTavish was the first,” Grief disclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, I remember him—the little, dried-up Scotchman.” + Wallenstein sipped his whiskey. “He's called the Trouble-mender, isn't + he?” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And they say the screw you pay him is bigger than mine or the British + Resident's?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it is,” Grief admitted. “You see, and no offence, he's really + worth it. He spends his time wherever the trouble is. He is a wizard. He's + the one who got me my lodgment on New Gibbon. He's down on Malaita now, + starting a plantation for me.” + </p> + <p> + “The first?” + </p> + <p> + “There's not even a trading station on all Malaita. The recruiters still + use covering boats and carry the old barbed wire above their rails. + There's the plantation now. We'll be in in half an hour.” He handed the + binoculars to his guest. “Those are the boat-sheds to the left of the + bungalow. Beyond are the barracks. And to the right are the copra-sheds. + We dry quite a bit already. Old Koho's getting civilized enough to make + his people bring in the nuts. There's the mouth of the stream where you + found the three women softening.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Wonder</i>, wing-and-wing, was headed directly in for the + anchorage. She rose and fell lazily over a glassy swell flawed here and + there by catspaws from astern. It was the tail-end of the monsoon season, + and the air was heavy and sticky with tropic moisture, the sky a florid, + leaden muss of formless clouds. The rugged land was swathed with + cloud-banks and squall wreaths, through which headlands and interior peaks + thrust darkly. On one promontory a slant of sunshine blazed torridly, on + another, scarcely a mile away, a squall was bursting in furious downpour + of driving rain. + </p> + <p> + This was the dank, fat, savage island of New Gibbon, lying fifty miles to + leeward of Choiseul. Geographically, it belonged to the Solomon Group. + Politically, the dividing line of German and British influence cut it in + half, hence the joint control by the two Resident Commissioners. In the + case of New Gibbon, this control existed only on paper in the colonial + offices of the two countries. There was no real control at all, and never + had been. The bêche de mer fishermen of the old days had passed it by. The + sandalwood traders, after stern experiences, had given it up. The + blackbirders had never succeeded in recruiting one labourer on the island, + and, after the schooner <i>Dorset</i> had been cut off with all hands, + they left the place severely alone. Later, a German company had attempted + a cocoanut plantation, which was abandoned after several managers and a + number of contract labourers had lost their heads. German cruisers and + British cruisers had failed to get the savage blacks to listen to reason. + Four times the missionary societies had essayed the peaceful conquest of + the island, and four times, between sickness and massacre, they had been + driven away, More cruisers, more pacifications, had followed, and followed + fruitlessly. The cannibals had always retreated into the bush and laughed + at the screaming shells. When the warships left it was an easy matter to + rebuild the burned grass houses and set up the ovens in the old-fashioned + way. + </p> + <p> + New Gibbon was a large island, fully one hundred and fifty miles long and + half as broad. + </p> + <p> + Its windward coast was iron-bound, without anchorages or inlets, and it + was inhabited by scores of warring tribes—at least it had been, + until Koho had arisen, like a Kamehameha, and, by force of arms and + considerable statecraft, firmly welded the greater portion of the tribes + into a confederation. His policy of permitting no intercourse with white + men had been eminently right, so far as survival of his own people was + concerned; and after the visit of the last cruiser he had had his own way + until David Grief and McTavish the Trouble-mender landed on the deserted + beach where once had stood the German bungalow and barracks and the + various English mission-houses. + </p> + <p> + Followed wars, false peaces, and more wars. The weazened little Scotchman + could make trouble as well as mend it, and, not content with holding the + beach, he imported bushmen from Malaita and invaded the wild-pig runs of + the interior jungle. He burned villages until Koho wearied of rebuilding + them, and when he captured Koho's eldest son he compelled a conference + with the old chief. It was then that McTavish laid down the rate of + head-exchange. For each head of his own people he promised to take ten of + Koho's. After Koho had learned that the Scotchman was a man of his word, + the first true peace was made. In the meantime McTavish had built the + bungalow and barracks, cleared the jungle-land along the beach, and laid + out the plantation. After that he had gone on his way to mend trouble on + the atoll of Tasman, where a plague of black measles had broken out and + been ascribed to Grief's plantation by the devil-devil doctors. Once, a + year later, he had been called back again to straighten up New Gibbon; and + Koho, after paying a forced fine of two hundred thousand cocoanuts, + decided it was cheaper to keep the peace and sell the nuts. Also, the + fires of his youth had burned down. He was getting old and limped of one + leg where a Lee-Enfield bullet had perforated the calf. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + “I knew a chap in Hawaii,” Grief said, “superintendent of a sugar + plantation, who used a hammer and a ten-penny nail.” + </p> + <p> + They were sitting on the broad bungalow veranda, and watching Worth, the + manager of New Gibbon, doctoring the sick squad. They were New Georgia + boys, a dozen of them, and the one with the aching tooth had been put back + to the last. Worth had just failed in his first attempt. He wiped the + sweat from his forehead with one hand and waved the forceps with the + other. + </p> + <p> + “And broke more than one jaw,” he asserted grimly. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. Wallenstein smiled and elevated his brows. + </p> + <p> + “He said not, at any rate,” Grief qualified. “He assured me, furthermore, + that he always succeeded on the first trial.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw it done when I was second mate on a lime-juicer,” Captain Ward + spoke up. “The old man used a caulking mallet and a steel marlin-spike. He + took the tooth out with the first stroke, too, clean as a whistle.” + </p> + <p> + “Me for the forceps,” Worth muttered grimly, inserting his own pair in the + mouth of the black. As he pulled, the man groaned and rose in the air. + “Lend a hand, somebody, and hold him down,” the manager appealed. + </p> + <p> + Grief and Wallenstein, on either side, gripped the black and held him. And + he, in turn, struggled against them and clenched his teeth on the forceps. + The group swayed back and forth. Such exertion, in the stagnant heat, + brought the sweat out on all of them. The black sweated, too, but his was + the sweat of excruciating pain. The chair on which he sat was overturned. + Captain Ward paused in the act of pouring himself a drink, and called + encouragement. Worth pleaded with his assistants to hang on, and hung on + himself, twisting the tooth till it crackled and then attempting a + straightaway pull. + </p> + <p> + Nor did any of them notice the little black man who limped up the steps + and stood looking on. Koho was a conservative. His fathers before him had + worn no clothes, and neither did he, not even a gee-string. The many empty + perforations in nose and lips and ears told of decorative passions long + since dead. The holes on both ear-lobes had been torn out, but their size + was attested by the strips of withered flesh that hung down and swept his + shoulders. He cared now only for utility, and in one of the half dozen + minor holes in his right ear he carried a short clay pipe. Around his + waist was buckled a cheap trade-belt, and between the imitation leather + and the naked skin was thrust the naked blade of a long knife. Suspended + from the belt was his bamboo betel-nut and lime box. In his hand was a + short-barrelled, large-bore Snider rifle. He was indescribably filthy, and + here and there marred by scars, the worst being the one left by the + Lee-Enfield bullet, which had withered the calf to half the size of its + mate. His shrunken mouth showed that few teeth were left to serve him. + Face and body were shrunken and withered, but his black, bead-like eyes, + small and close together, were very bright, withal they were restless and + querulous, and more like a monkey's than a man's. + </p> + <p> + He looked on, grinning like a shrewd little ape. His joy in the torment of + the patient was natural, for the world he lived in was a world of pain. He + had endured his share of it, and inflicted far more than his share on + others. When the tooth parted from its locked hold in the jaw and the + forceps raked across the other teeth and out of the mouth with a + nerve-rasping sound, old Koho's eyes fairly sparkled, and he looked with + glee at the poor black, collapsed on the veranda floor and groaning + terribly as he held his head in both his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I think he's going to faint,” Grief said, bending over the victim. + “Captain Ward, give him a drink, please. You'd better take one yourself, + Worth; you're shaking like a leaf.” + </p> + <p> + “And I think I'll take one,” said Wallenstein, wiping the sweat from his + face. His eye caught the shadow of Koho on the floor and followed it up to + the old chief himself. “Hello! who's this?” + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Koho!” Grief said genially, though he knew better than to offer to + shake hands. + </p> + <p> + It was one of Koho's <i>tambos</i>, given him by the devil-devil doctors + when he was born, that never was his flesh to come in contact with the + flesh of a white man. Worth and Captain Ward, of the <i>Wonder</i>, + greeted Koho, but Worth frowned at sight of the Snider, for it was one of + his <i>tambos</i> that no visiting bushman should carry a weapon on the + plantation. Rifles had a nasty way of going off at the hip under such + circumstances. The manager clapped his hands, and a black house-boy, + recruited from San Cristobal, came running. At a sign from Worth, he took + the rifle from the visitor's hand and carried it inside the bungalow. + </p> + <p> + “Koho,” Grief said, introducing the German Resident, “this big fella + marster belong Bougainville—my word, big fella marster too much.” + </p> + <p> + Koho, remembering the visits of the various German cruisers, smiled with a + light of unpleasant reminiscence in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Don't shake hands with him, Wallenstein,” Grief warned. “<i>Tambo</i>, + you know.” Then to Koho, “My word, you get 'm too much fat stop along you. + Bime by you marry along new fella Mary, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Too old fella me,” Koho answered, with a weary shake of the head. “Me no + like 'm Mary. Me no like 'm <i>kai-kai</i> (food). Close up me die along + altogether.” He stole a significant glance at Worth, whose head was tilted + back to a long glass. “Me like 'm rum.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Tambo</i> along black fella.” + </p> + <p> + “He black fella no tambo,” Koho retorted, nodding toward the groaning + labourer. + </p> + <p> + “He fella sick,” Grief explained. + </p> + <p> + “Me fella sick.” + </p> + <p> + “You fella big liar,” Grief laughed. “Rum tambo, all the time tambo. Now, + Koho, we have big fella talk along this big fella mar-ster.” + </p> + <p> + And he and Wallenstein and the old chief sat down on the veranda to confer + about affairs of state. Koho was complimented on the peace he had kept, + and he, with many protestations of his aged decrepitude, swore peace again + and everlasting. Then was discussed the matter of starting a German + plantation twenty miles down the coast. The land, of course, was to be + bought from Koho, and the price was arranged in terms of tobacco, knives, + beads, pipes, hatchets, porpoise teeth and shell-money—in terms of + everything except rum. While the talk went on, Koho, glancing through the + window, could see Worth mixing medicines and placing bottles back in the + medicine cupboard. Also, he saw the manager complete his labours by taking + a drink of Scotch. Koho noted the bottle carefully. And, though he hung + about for an hour after the conference was over, there was never a moment + when some one or another was not in the room. When Grief and Worth sat + down to a business talk, Koho gave it up. + </p> + <p> + “Me go along schooner,” he announced, then turned and limped out. + </p> + <p> + “How are the mighty fallen,” Grief laughed. “To think that used to be + Koho, the fiercest red-handed murderer in the Solomons, who defied all his + life two of the greatest world powers. And now he's going aboard to try + and cadge Denby for a drink.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + For the last time in his life the supercargo of the <i>Wonder</i> + perpetrated a practical joke on a native. He was in the main cabin, + checking off the list of goods being landed in the whaleboats, when Koho + limped down the com-panionway and took a seat opposite him at the table. + </p> + <p> + “Close up me die along altogether,” was the burden of the old chief's + plaint. All the delights of the flesh had forsaken him. “Me no like 'm + Mary. Me no like 'm <i>kai-kai</i>. Me too much sick fella. Me close up + finish.” A long, sad pause, in which his face expressed unutterable + concern for his stomach, which he patted gingerly and with an assumption + of pain. “Belly belong me too much sick.” Another pause, which was an + invitation to Denby to make suggestions. Then followed a long, weary, + final sigh, and a “Me like 'm rum.” + </p> + <p> + Denby laughed heartlessly. He had been cadged for drinks before by the old + cannibal, and the sternest <i>tambo</i> Grief and McTavish had laid down + was the one forbidding alcohol to the natives of New Gibbon. + </p> + <p> + The trouble was that Koho had acquired the taste. In his younger days he + had learned the delights of drunkenness when he cut off the schooner <i>Dorset</i>, + but unfortunately he had learned it along with all his tribesmen, and the + supply had not held out long. Later, when he led his naked warriors down + to the destruction of the German plantation, he was wiser, and he + appropriated all the liquors for his sole use. The result had been a + gorgeous mixed drunk, on a dozen different sorts of drink, ranging from + beer doctored with quinine to absinthe and apricot brandy. The drunk had + lasted for months, and it had left him with a thirst that would remain + with him until he died. Predisposed toward alcohol, after the way of + savages, all the chemistry of his flesh clamoured for it. This craving was + to him expressed in terms of tingling and sensation, of maggots crawling + warmly and deliciously in his brain, of good feeling, and well being, and + high exultation. And in his barren old age, when women and feasting were a + weariness, and when old hates had smouldered down, he desired more and + more the revivifying fire that came liquid out of bottles—out of all + sorts of bottles—for he remembered them well. He would sit in the + sun for hours, occasionally drooling, in mournful contemplation of the + great orgy which had been his when the German plantation was cleaned out. + </p> + <p> + Denby was sympathetic. He sought out the old chief's symptoms and offered + him dyspeptic tablets from the medicine chest, pills, and a varied + assortment of harmless tabloids and capsules. But Koho steadfastly + declined. Once, when he cut the <i>Dorset</i> off, he had bitten through a + capsule of quinine; in addition, two of his warriors had partaken of a + white powder and laid down and died very violently in a very short time. + No; he did not believe in drugs. But the liquids from bottles, the + cool-flaming youth-givers and warm-glowing dream-makers. No wonder the + white men valued them so highly and refused to dispense them. + </p> + <p> + “Rum he good fella,” he repeated over and over, plaintively and with the + weary patience of age. + </p> + <p> + And then Denby made his mistake and played his joke. Stepping around + behind Koho, he unlocked the medicine closet and took out a four-ounce + bottle labelled <i>essence of mustard</i>. As he made believe to draw the + cork and drink of the contents, in the mirror on the for'ard bulkhead he + glimpsed Koho, twisted half around, intently watching him. Denby smacked + his lips and cleared his throat appreciatively as he replaced the bottle. + Neglecting to relock the medicine closet, he returned to his chair, and, + after a decent interval, went on deck. He stood beside the companionway + and listened. After several moments the silence below was broken by a + fearful, wheezing, propulsive, strangling cough. He smiled to himself and + returned leisurely down the companionway. The bottle was back on the shelf + where it belonged, and the old man sat in the same position. Denby + marvelled at his iron control. Mouth and lips and tongue, and all + sensitive membranes, were a blaze of fire. He gasped and nearly coughed + several times, while involuntary tears brimmed in his eyes and ran down + his cheeks. An ordinary man would have coughed and strangled for half an + hour. But old Koho's face was grimly composed. It dawned on him that a + trick had been played, and into his eyes came an expression of hatred and + malignancy so primitive, so abysmal, that it sent the chills up and down + Denby's spine. Koho arose proudly. + </p> + <p> + “Me go along,” he said. “You sing out one fella boat stop along me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + Having seen Grief and Worth start for a ride over the plantation, + Wallenstein sat down in the big living-room and with gun-oil and old rags + proceeded to take apart and clean his automatic pistol. On the table + beside him stood the inevitable bottle of Scotch and numerous soda + bottles. Another bottle, part full, chanced to stand there. It was also + labelled Scotch, but its content was liniment which Worth had mixed for + the horses and neglected to put away. + </p> + <p> + As Wallenstein worked, he glanced through the window and saw Koho coming + up the compound path. He was limping very rapidly, but when he came along + the veranda and entered the room his gait was slow and dignified. He sat + down and watched the gun-cleaning, Though mouth and lips and tongue were + afire, he gave no sign. At the end of five minutes he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Rum he good fella. Me like 'm rum.” Wallenstein smiled and shook his + head, and then it was that his perverse imp suggested what was to be his + last joke on a native. The similarity of the two bottles was the real + suggestion. He laid his pistol parts on the table and mixed himself a long + drink. Standing as he did between Koho and the table, he interchanged the + two bottles, drained his glass, made as if to search for something, and + left the room. From outside he heard the surprised splutter and cough; but + when he returned the old chief sat as before. The liniment in the bottle, + however, was lower, and it still oscillated. + </p> + <p> + Koho stood up, clapped his hands, and, when the house-boy answered, signed + that he desired his rifle. The boy fetched the weapon, and according to + custom preceded the visitor down the pathway. Not until outside the gate + did the boy turn the rifle over to its owner. Wallenstein, chuckling to + himself, watched the old chief limp along the beach in the direction of + the river. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later, as he put his pistol together, Wallenstein heard the + distant report of a gun. For the instant he thought of Koho, then + dismissed the conjecture from his mind. Worth and Grief had taken shotguns + with them, and it was probably one of their shots at a pigeon. Wallenstein + lounged back in his chair, chuckled, twisted his yellow mustache, and + dozed. He was aroused by the excited voice of Worth, crying out: + </p> + <p> + “Ring the big fella bell! Ring plenty too much! Ring like hell!” + </p> + <p> + Wallenstein gained the veranda in time to see the manager jump his horse + over the low fence of the compound and dash down the beach after Grief, + who was riding madly ahead. A loud crackling and smoke rising through the + cocoanut trees told the story. The boat-houses and the barracks were on + fire. The big plantation bell was ringing wildly as the German Resident + ran down the beach, and he could see whaleboats hastily putting off from + the schooner. + </p> + <p> + Barracks and boat-houses, grass-thatched and like tinder, were wrapped in + flames. Grief emerged from the kitchen, carrying a naked black child by + the leg. Its head was missing. + </p> + <p> + “The cook's in there,” he told Worth. “Her head's gone, too. She was too + heavy, and I had to clear out.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my fault,” Wallenstein said. “Old Koho did it. But I let him take + a drink of Worth's horse liniment.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he's headed for the bush,” Worth said, springing astride his + horse and starting. “Oliver is down there by the river. Hope he didn't get + <i>him</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The manager galloped away through the trees. A few minutes later, as the + charred wreck of the barracks crashed in, they heard him calling and + followed. On the edge of the river bank they came upon him. He still sat + on his horse, very white-faced, and gazed at something on the ground. It + was the body of Oliver, the young assistant manager, though it was hard to + realize it, for the head was gone. The black labourers, breathless from + their run in from the fields, were now crowding around, and under conches + to-night, and the war-drums, “all merry hell will break loose. They won't + rush us, but keep all the boys close up to the house, Mr. Worth. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + As they returned along the path they came upon a black who whimpered and + cried vociferously. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up mouth belong you!” Worth shouted. “What name you make 'm noise?” + </p> + <p> + “Him fella Koho finish along two fella bulla-macow,” the black answered, + drawing a forefinger significantly across his throat. + </p> + <p> + “He's knifed the cows,” Grief said. “That means no more milk for some time + for you, Worth. I'll see about sending a couple up from Ugi.” + </p> + <p> + Wallenstein proved inconsolable, until Denby, coming ashore, confessed to + the dose of essence of mustard. Thereat the German Resident became even + cheerful, though he twisted his yellow mustache up more fiercely and + continued to curse the Solomons with oaths culled from four languages. + </p> + <p> + Next morning, visible from the masthead of the <i>Wonder</i>, the bush was + alive with signal-smokes. From promontory to promontory, and back through + the solid jungle, the smoke-pillars curled and puffed and talked. Remote + villages on the higher peaks, beyond the farthest raids McTavish had ever + driven, joined in the troubled conversation. From across the river + persisted a bedlam of conches; while from everywhere, drifting for miles + along the quiet air, came the deep, booming reverberations of the great + war-drums—huge tree trunks, hollowed by fire and carved with tools + of stone and shell. “You're all right as long as you stay close,” Grief + told his manager. “I've got to get along to Guvutu. They won't come out in + the open and attack you. Keep the work-gangs close. Stop the clearing till + this blows over. They'll get any detached gangs you send out. And, + whatever you do, don't be fooled into going into the bush after Koho. If + you do, he'll get you. All you've got to do is wait for McTavish. I'll + send him up with a bunch of his Malaita bush-men. He's the only man who + can go inside. Also, until he comes, I'll leave Denby with you. You don't + mind, do you, Mr. Denby? I'll send McTavish up with the <i>Wanda</i>, and + you can go back on her and rejoin the <i>Wonder</i>. Captain Ward can + manage without you for a trip.” + </p> + <p> + “It was just what I was going to volunteer,” Denby answered. “I never + dreamed all this muss would be kicked up over a joke. You see, in a way I + consider myself responsible for it.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I responsible,” Wallenstein broke in. + </p> + <p> + “But I started it,” the supercargo urged. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you did, but I carried it along.” + </p> + <p> + “And Koho finished it,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, I, too, shall remain,” said the German. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were coming to Guvutu with me,” Grief protested. + </p> + <p> + “I was. But this is my jurisdiction, partly, and I have made a fool of + myself in it completely. I shall remain and help get things straight + again.” + </p> + <p> + At Guvutu, Grief sent full instructions to McTavish by a recruiting ketch + which was just starting for Malaita. Captain Ward sailed in the <i>Wonder</i> + for the Santa Cruz Islands; and Grief, borrowing a whaleboat and a crew of + black prisoners from the British Resident, crossed the channel to + Guadalcanar, to examine the grass lands back of Penduffryn. + </p> + <p> + Three weeks later, with a free sheet and a lusty breeze, he threaded the + coral patches and surged up the smooth water to Guvutu anchorage. The + harbour was deserted, save for a small ketch which lay close in to the + shore reef. Grief recognized it as the <i>Wanda</i>. She had evidently + just got in by the Tulagi Passage, for her black crew was still at work + furling the sails. As he rounded alongside, McTavish himself extended a + hand to help him over the rail. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” Grief asked. “Haven't you started yet?” + </p> + <p> + McTavish nodded. “And got back. Everything's all right on board.” + </p> + <p> + “How's New Gibbon?” + </p> + <p> + “All there, the last I saw of it, barrin' a few inconsequential frills + that a good eye could make out lacking from the landscape.” + </p> + <p> + He was a cold flame of a man, small as Koho, and as dried up, with a + mahogany complexion and small, expressionless blue eyes that were more + like gimlet-points than the eyes of a Scotchman. Without fear, without + enthusiasm, impervious to disease and climate and sentiment, he was lean + and bitter and deadly as a snake. That his present sour look boded ill + news, Grief was well aware. + </p> + <p> + “Spit it out!” he said. “What's happened?” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a thing severely to be condemned, a damned shame, this joking with + heathen niggers,” was the reply. “Also, 'tis very expensive. Come below, + Mr. Grief. You'll be better for the information with a long glass in your + hand. After you.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you settle things?” his employer demanded as soon as they were + seated in the cabin. + </p> + <p> + The little Scotchman shook his head. “There was nothing to settle. It all + depends how you look at it. The other way would be to say it was settled, + entirely settled, mind you, before I got there.” + </p> + <p> + “But the plantation, man? The plantation?” + </p> + <p> + “No plantation. All the years of our work have gone for naught. 'Tis back + where we started, where the missionaries started, where the Germans + started—and where they finished. Not a stone stands on another at + the landing pier. The houses are black ashes. Every tree is hacked down, + and the wild pigs are rooting out the yams and sweet potatoes. Those boys + from New Georgia, a fine bunch they were, five score of them, and they + cost you a pretty penny. Not one is left to tell the tale.” + </p> + <p> + He paused and began fumbling in a large locker under the companion-steps. + </p> + <p> + “But Worth? And Denby? And Wallenstein?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I'm telling you. Take a look.” + </p> + <p> + McTavish dragged out a sack made of rice matting and emptied its contents + on the floor. David Grief pulled himself together with a jerk, for he + found himself gazing fascinated at the heads of the three men he had left + at New Gibbon. The yellow mustache of Wallenstein had lost its fierce curl + and drooped and wilted on the upper lip. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how it happened,” the Scotchman's voice went on drearily. + “But I surmise they went into the bush after the old devil.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is Koho?” Grief asked. + </p> + <p> + “Back in the bush and drunk as a lord. That's how I was able to recover + the heads. He was too drunk to stand. They lugged him on their backs out + of the village when I rushed it. And if you'll relieve me of the heads, + I'll be well obliged.” He paused and sighed. “I suppose they'll have + regular funerals over them and put them in the ground. But in my way of + thinking they'd make excellent curios. Any respectable museum would pay a + hundred quid apiece. Better have another drink. You're looking a bit pale—— + There, put that down you, and if you'll take my advice, Mr. Grief, I would + say, set your face sternly against any joking with the niggers. It always + makes trouble, and it is a very expensive divertisement.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Five—A LITTLE ACCOUNT WITH SWITHIN HALL + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + With a last long scrutiny at the unbroken circle of the sea, David Grief + swung out of the cross-trees and slowly and dejectedly descended the + ratlines to the deck. + </p> + <p> + “Leu-Leu Atoll is sunk, Mr. Snow,” he said to the anxious-faced young + mate. “If there is anything in navigation, the atoll is surely under the + sea, for we've sailed clear over it twice—or the spot where it ought + to be. It's either that or the chronometer's gone wrong, or I've forgotten + my navigation.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be the chronometer, sir,” the mate reassured his owner. “You know + I made separate sights and worked them up, and that they agreed with + yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Grief muttered, nodding glumly, “and where your Summer lines + crossed, and mine, too, was the dead centre of Leu-Leu Atoll. It must be + the chronometer—slipped a cog or something.” + </p> + <p> + He made a short pace to the rail and back, and cast a troubled eye at the + <i>Uncle Toby's</i> wake. The schooner, with a fairly strong breeze on her + quarter, was logging nine or ten knots. + </p> + <p> + “Better bring her up on the wind, Mr. Snow. Put her under easy sail and + let her work to windward on two-hour legs. It's thickening up, and I don't + imagine we can get a star observation to-night; so we'll just hold our + weather position, get a latitude sight to-morrow, and run Leu-Leu down on + her own latitude. That's the way all the old navigators did.” + </p> + <p> + Broad of beam, heavily sparred, with high freeboard and bluff, Dutchy bow, + the <i>Uncle Toby</i> was the slowest, tubbiest, safest, and most + fool-proof schooner David Grief possessed. Her run was in the Banks and + Santa Cruz groups and to the northwest among the several isolated atolls + where his native traders collected copra, hawksbill turtle, and an + occasional ton of pearl shell. Finding the skipper down with a + particularly bad stroke of fever, Grief had relieved him and taken the <i>Uncle + Toby</i> on her semiannual run to the atolls. He had elected to make his + first call at Leu-Leu, which lay farthest, and now found himself lost at + sea with a chronometer that played tricks. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + No stars showed that night, nor was the sun visible next day. A stuffy, + sticky calm obtained, broken by big wind-squalls and heavy downpours. From + fear of working too far to windward, the Uncle Toby was hove to, and four + days and nights of cloud-hidden sky followed. Never did the sun appear, + and on the several occasions that stars broke through they were too dim + and fleeting for identification. By this time it was patent to the veriest + tyro that the elements were preparing to break loose. Grief, coming on + deck from consulting the barometer, which steadfastly remained at 29.90, + encountered Jackie-Jackie, whose face was as brooding and troublous as the + sky and air. Jackie-Jackie, a Tongan sailor of experience, served as a + sort of bosun and semi-second mate over the mixed Kanaka crew. + </p> + <p> + “Big weather he come, I think,” he said. “I see him just the same before + maybe five, six times.” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. “Hurricane weather, all right, Jackie-Jackie. Pretty soon + barometer go down—bottom fall out.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” the Tongan concurred. “He goin' to blow like hell.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later Snow came on deck. + </p> + <p> + “She's started,” he said; “29.85, going down and pumping at the same time. + It's stinking hot—don't you notice it?” He brushed his forehead with + his hands. “It's sickening. I could lose my breakfast without trying.” + </p> + <p> + Jackie-Jackie grinned. “Just the same me. Everything inside walk about. + Always this way before big blow. But <i>Uncle Toby</i> all right. He go + through anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Better rig that storm-trysail on the main, and a storm-jib,” Grief said + to the mate. “And put all the reefs into the working canvas before you + furl down. No telling what we may need. Put on double gaskets while you're + about it.” + </p> + <p> + In another hour, the sultry oppressiveness steadily increasing and the + stark calm still continuing, the barometer had fallen to 29.70. The mate, + being young, lacked the patience of waiting for the portentous. He ceased + his restless pacing, and waved his arms. + </p> + <p> + “If she's going to come let her come!” he cried. “There's no use + shilly-shallying this way! Whatever the worst is, let us know it and have + it! A pretty pickle—lost with a crazy chronometer and a hurricane + that won't blow!” + </p> + <p> + The cloud-mussed sky turned to a vague copper colour, and seemed to glow + as the inside of a huge heated caldron. Nobody remained below. The native + sailors formed in anxious groups amidships and for'ard, where they talked + in low voices and gazed apprehensively at the ominous sky and the equally + ominous sea that breathed in long, low, oily undulations. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like petroleum mixed with castor oil,” the mate grumbled, as he + spat his disgust overside. “My mother used to dose me with messes like + that when I was a kid. Lord, she's getting black!” + </p> + <p> + The lurid coppery glow had vanished, and the sky thickened and lowered + until the darkness was as that of a late twilight. David Grief, who well + knew the hurricane rules, nevertheless reread the “Laws of Storms,” + screwing his eyes in the faint light in order to see the print. There was + nothing to be done save wait for the wind, so that he might know how he + lay in relation to the fast-flying and deadly centre that from somewhere + was approaching out of the gloom. + </p> + <p> + It was three in the afternoon, and the glass had sunk to 29:45, when the + wind came. They could see it on the water, darkening the face of the sea, + crisping tiny whitecaps as it rushed along. It was merely a stiff breeze, + and the <i>Uncle Toby</i>, filling away under her storm canvas till the + wind was abeam, sloshed along at a four-knot gait. + </p> + <p> + “No weight to that,” Snow sneered. “And after such grand preparation!” + </p> + <p> + “Pickaninny wind,” Jackie-Jackie agreed. “He grow big man pretty quick, + you see.” + </p> + <p> + Grief ordered the foresail put on, retaining the reefs, and the <i>Uncle + Toby</i> mended her pace in the rising breeze. The wind quickly grew to + man's size, but did not stop there. It merely blew hard, and harder, and + kept on blowing harder, advertising each increase by lulls followed by + fierce, freshening gusts. Ever it grew, until the <i>Uncle Toby's</i> rail + was more often pressed under than not, while her waist boiled with foaming + water which the scuppers could not carry off. Grief studied the barometer, + still steadily falling. + </p> + <p> + “The centre is to the southward,” he told Snow, “and we're running across + its path and into it. Now we'll turn about and run the other way. That + ought to bring the glass up. Take in the foresail—it's more than she + can carry already—and stand by to wear her around.” + </p> + <p> + The maneuver was accomplished, and through the gloom that was almost that + of the first darkness of evening the <i>Uncle Toby</i> turned and raced + madly north across the face of the storm. + </p> + <p> + “It's nip and tuck,” Grief confided to the mate a couple of hours later. + “The storm's swinging a big curve—there's no calculating that curve—and + we may win across or the centre may catch us. Thank the Lord, the glass is + holding its own. It all depends on how big the curve is. The sea's too big + for us to keep on. Heave her to! She'll keep working along out anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I knew what wind was,” Snow shouted in his owner's ear next + morning. “This isn't wind. It's something unthinkable. It's impossible. It + must reach ninety or a hundred miles an hour in the gusts. That don't mean + anything. How could I ever tell it to anybody? I couldn't. And look at + that sea! I've run my Easting down, but I never saw anything like that.” + </p> + <p> + Day had come, and the sun should have been up an hour, yet the best it + could produce was a sombre semi-twilight. The ocean was a stately + procession of moving mountains. A third of a mile across yawned the + valleys between the great waves. Their long slopes, shielded somewhat from + the full fury of the wind, were broken by systems of smaller whitecapping + waves, but from the high crests of the big waves themselves the wind tore + the whitecaps in the forming. This spume drove masthead high, and higher, + horizontally, above the surface of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “We're through the worst,” was Grief's judgment. “The glass is coming + along all the time. The sea will get bigger as the wind eases down. I'm + going to turn in. Watch for shifts in the wind. They'll be sure to come. + Call me at eight bells.” + </p> + <p> + By mid-afternoon, in a huge sea, with the wind after its last shift no + more than a stiff breeze, the Tongan bosun sighted a schooner bottom up. + The <i>Uncle Toby's</i> drift took them across the bow and they could not + make out the name; but before night they picked up with a small, + round-bottom, double-ender boat, swamped but with white lettering visible + on its bow. Through the binoculars, Gray made out: <i>Emily L No. 3</i>. + </p> + <p> + “A sealing schooner,” Grief said. “But what a sealer's doing in these + waters is beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + “Treasure-hunters, maybe?” Snow speculated. “The <i>Sophie Sutherland</i> + and the <i>Herman</i> were sealers, you remember, chartered out of San + Francisco by the chaps with the maps who can always go right to the spot + until they get there and don't.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + After a giddy night of grand and lofty tumbling, in which, over a big and + dying sea, without a breath of wind to steady her, the Uncle Toby rolled + every person on board sick of soul, a light breeze sprang up and the reefs + were shaken out. By midday, on a smooth ocean floor, the clouds thinned + and cleared and sights of the sun were obtained. Two degrees and fifteen + minutes south, the observation gave them. With a broken chronometer + longitude was out of the question. + </p> + <p> + “We're anywhere within five hundred and a thousand miles along that + latitude line,” Grief remarked, as he and the mate bent over the chart. + </p> + <p> + “Leu-Leu is to the south'ard somewhere, and this section of ocean is all + blank. There is neither an island nor a reef by which we can regulate the + chronometer. The only thing to do—” + </p> + <p> + “Land ho, skipper!” the Tongan called down the companionway. + </p> + <p> + Grief took a quick glance at the empty blank of the chart, whistled his + surprise, and sank back feebly in a chair. + </p> + <p> + “It gets me,” he said. “There can't be land around here. We never drifted + or ran like that. The whole voyage has been crazy. Will you kindly go up, + Mr. Snow, and see what's ailing Jackie.” + </p> + <p> + “It's land all right,” the mate called down a minute afterward. “You can + see it from the deck—tops of cocoanuts—an atoll of some sort. + Maybe it's Leu-Leu after all.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head positively as he gazed at the fringe of palms, only + the tops visible, apparently rising out of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Haul up on the wind, Mr. Snow, close-and-by, and we'll take a look. We + can just reach past to the south, and if it spreads off in that direction + we'll hit the southwest corner.” + </p> + <p> + Very near must palms be to be seen from the low deck of a schooner, and, + slowly as the <i>Uncle Toby</i> sailed, she quickly raised the low land + above the sea, while more palms increased the definition of the atoll + circle. + </p> + <p> + “She's a beauty,” the mate remarked. “A perfect circle.... Looks as if it + might be eight or nine miles across.... Wonder if there's an entrance to + the lagoon.... Who knows? Maybe it's a brand new find.” + </p> + <p> + They coasted up the west side of the atoll, making short tacks in to the + surf-pounded coral rock and out again. From the masthead, across the + palm-fringe, a Kanaka announced the lagoon and a small island in the + middle. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you're thinking,” Grief said to his mate. + </p> + <p> + Snow, who had been muttering and shaking his head, looked up with quick + and challenging incredulity. + </p> + <p> + “You're thinking the entrance will be on the northwest.” Grief went on, as + if reciting. + </p> + <p> + “Two cable lengths wide, marked on the north by three separated cocoanuts, + and on the south by pandanus trees. Eight miles in diameter, a perfect + circle, with an island in the dead centre.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>was</i> thinking that,” Snow acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + “And there's the entrance opening up just where it ought to be——” + </p> + <p> + “And the three palms,” Snow almost whispered, “and the pandanus trees. If + there's a windmill on the island, it's it—Swithin Hall's island. But + it can't be. Everybody's been looking for it for the last ten years.” + </p> + <p> + “Hall played you a dirty trick once, didn't he?” Grief queried. + </p> + <p> + Snow nodded. “That's why I'm working for you. He broke me flat. It was + downright robbery. I bought the wreck of the <i>Cascade</i>, down in + Sydney, out of a first instalment of a legacy from home.” + </p> + <p> + “She went on Christmas Island, didn't she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, full tilt, high and dry, in the night. They saved the passengers and + mails. Then I bought a little island schooner, which took the rest of my + money, and I had to wait the final payment by the executors to fit her + out. What did Swithin Hall do—he was at Honolulu at the time—but + make a straightaway run for Christmas Island. Neither right nor title did + he have. When I got there, the hull and engines were all that was left of + the <i>Cascade</i>. She had had a fair shipment of silk on board, too. And + it wasn't even damaged. I got it afterward pretty straight from his + supercargo. He cleared something like sixty thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + Snow shrugged his shoulders and gazed bleakly at the smooth surface of the + lagoon, where tiny wavelets danced in the afternoon sun. + </p> + <p> + “The wreck was mine. I bought her at public auction. I'd gambled big, and + I'd lost. When I got back to Sydney, the crew, and some of the tradesmen + who'd extended me credit, libelled the schooner. I pawned my watch and + sextant, and shovelled coal one spell, and finally got a billet in the New + Hebrides on a screw of eight pounds a month. Then I tried my luck as + independent trader, went broke, took a mate's billet on a recruiter down + to Tanna and over to Fiji, got a job as overseer on a German plantation + back of Apia, and finally settled down on the <i>Uncle Toby</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever met Swithin Hall?” + </p> + <p> + Snow shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you're likely to meet him now. There's the windmill.” + </p> + <p> + In the centre of the lagoon, as they emerged from the passage, they opened + a small, densely wooded island, among the trees of which a large Dutch + windmill showed plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody at home from the looks of it,” Grief said, “or you might have a + chance to collect.” + </p> + <p> + The mate's face set vindictively, and his fists clenched. + </p> + <p> + “Can't touch him legally. He's got too much money now. But I can take + sixty thousand dollars' worth out of his hide. I hope he is at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I hope he is, too,” Grief said, with an appreciative smile. “You got + the description of his island from Bau-Oti, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as pretty well everybody else has. The trouble is that Bau-Oti can't + give latitude or longitude. Says they sailed a long way from the Gilberts—that's + all he knows. I wonder what became of him.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him a year ago on the beach at Tahiti. Said he was thinking about + shipping for a cruise through the Paumotus. Well, here we are, getting + close in. Heave the lead, Jackie-Jackie. Stand by to let go, Mr. Snow. + According to Bau-Oti, anchorage three hundred yards off the west shore in + nine fathoms, coral patches to the southeast. There are the patches. What + do you get, Jackie?” + </p> + <p> + “Nine fadom.” + </p> + <p> + “Let go, Mr. Snow.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Uncle Toby</i> swung to her chain, head-sails ran down, and the + Kanaka crew sprang to fore and main-halyards and sheets. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + The whaleboat laid alongside the small, coral-stone landing-pier, and + David Grief and his mate stepped ashore. + </p> + <p> + “You'd think the place deserted,” Grief said, as they walked up a sanded + path to the bungalow. “But I smell a smell that I've often smelled. + Something doing, or my nose is a liar. The lagoon is carpeted with shell. + They're rotting the meat out not a thousand miles away. Get that whiff?” + </p> + <p> + Like no bungalow in the tropics was this bungalow of Swithin Hall. Of + mission architecture, when they had entered through the unlatched screen + door they found decoration and furniture of the same mission style. The + floor of the big living-room was covered with the finest Samoan mats. + There were couches, window seats, cozy corners, and a billiard table. A + sewing table, and a sewing-basket, spilling over with sheer linen in the + French embroidery of which stuck a needle, tokened a woman's presence. By + screen and veranda the blinding sunshine was subdued to a cool, dim + radiance. The sheen of pearl push-buttons caught Grief's eye. + </p> + <p> + “Storage batteries, by George, run by the windmill!” he exclaimed as he + pressed the buttons. “And concealed lighting!” + </p> + <p> + Hidden bowls glowed, and the room was filled with diffused golden light. + Many shelves of books lined the walls. Grief fell to running over their + titles. A fairly well-read man himself, for a sea-adventurer, he glimpsed + a wide-ness of range and catholicity of taste that were beyond him. Old + friends he met, and others that he had heard of but never read. There were + complete sets of Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Gorky; of Cooper and Mark Twain; + of Hugo, and Zola, and Sue; and of Flaubert, De Maupassant, and Paul de + Koch. He glanced curiously at the pages of Metchnikoff, Weininger, and + Schopenhauer, and wonderingly at those of Ellis, Lydston, Krafft-Ebbing, + and Forel. Woodruff's “Expansion of Races” was in his hands when Snow + returned from further exploration of the house. + </p> + <p> + “Enamelled bath-tub, separate room for a shower, and a sitz-bath!” he + exclaimed. “Fitted up for a king! And I reckon some of my money went to + pay for it. The place must be occupied. I found fresh-opened butter and + milk tins in the pantry, and fresh turtle-meat hanging up. I'm going to + see what else I can find.” + </p> + <p> + Grief, too, departed, through a door that led out of the opposite end of + the living-room. He found himself in a self-evident woman's bedroom. + Across it, he peered through a wire-mesh door into a screened and darkened + sleeping porch. On a couch lay a woman asleep. In the soft light she + seemed remarkably beautiful in a dark Spanish way. By her side, opened and + face downward, a novel lay on a chair. From the colour in her cheeks, + Grief concluded that she had not been long in the tropics. After the one + glimpse he stole softly back, in time to see Snow entering the living-room + through the other door. By the naked arm he was clutching an age-wrinkled + black who grinned in fear and made signs of dumbness. + </p> + <p> + “I found him snoozing in a little kennel out back,” the mate said. “He's + the cook, I suppose. Can't get a word out of him. What did you find?” + </p> + <p> + “A sleeping princess. S-sh! There's somebody now.” + </p> + <p> + “If it's Hall,” Snow muttered, clenching his fist. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. “No rough-house. There's a woman here. And if it is + Hall, before we go I'll maneuver a chance for you to get action.” + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and a large, heavily built man entered. In his belt was a + heavy, long-barrelled Colt's. One quick, anxious look he gave them, then + his face wreathed in a genial smile and his hand was extended. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome, strangers. But if you don't mind my asking, how, by all that's + sacred, did you ever manage to find my island?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we were out of our course,” Grief answered, shaking hands. + </p> + <p> + “My name's Hall, Swithin Hall,” the other said, turning to shake Snow's + hand. “And I don't mind telling you that you're the first visitors I've + ever had.” + </p> + <p> + “And this is your secret island that's had all the beaches talking for + years?” Grief answered. “Well, I know the formula now for finding it.” + </p> + <p> + “How's that?” Hall asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Smash your chronometer, get mixed up with a hurricane, and then keep your + eyes open for cocoanuts rising out of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is your name?” Hall asked, after he had laughed perfunctorily. + </p> + <p> + “Anstey—Phil Anstey,” Grief answered promptly. “Bound on the <i>Uncle + Toby</i> from the Gilberts to New Guinea, and trying to find my longitude. + This is my mate, Mr. Gray, a better navigator than I, but who has lost his + goat just the same to the chronometer.” + </p> + <p> + Grief did not know his reason for lying, but he had felt the prompting and + succumbed to it. He vaguely divined that something was wrong, but could + not place his finger on it. Swithin Hall was a fat, round-faced man, with + a laughing lip and laughter-wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. But + Grief, in his early youth, had learned how deceptive this type could + prove, as well as the deceptiveness of blue eyes that screened the surface + with fun and hid what went on behind. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing with my cook?—lost yours and trying to shanghai + him?” Hall was saying. “You'd better let him go, if you're going to have + any supper. My wife's here, and she'll be glad to meet you—dinner, + she calls it, and calls me down for misnaming it, but I'm old fashioned. + My folks always ate dinner in the middle of the day. Can't get over early + training. Don't you want to wash up? I do. Look at me. I've been working + like a dog—out with the diving crew—shell, you know. But of + course you smelt it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + Snow pleaded charge of the schooner, and went on board. In addition to his + repugnance at breaking salt with the man who had robbed him, it was + necessary for him to impress the in-violableness of Grief's lies on the + Kanaka crew. By eleven o'clock Grief came on board, to find his mate + waiting up for him. + </p> + <p> + “There's something doing on Swithin Hall's island,” Grief said, shaking + his head. “I can't make out what it is, but I get the feel of it. What + does Swithin Hall look like?” + </p> + <p> + Snow shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “That man ashore there never bought the books on the shelves,” Grief + declared with conviction. “Nor did he ever go in for concealed lighting. + He's got a surface flow of suavity, but he's rough as a hoof-rasp + underneath. He's an oily bluff. And the bunch he's got with him—Watson + and Gorman their names are; they came in after you left—real + sea-dogs, middle-aged, marred and battered, tough as rusty wrought-iron + nails and twice as dangerous; real ugly customers, with guns in their + belts, who don't strike me as just the right sort to be on such comradely + terms with Swithin Hall. And the woman! She's a lady. I mean it. She knows + a whole lot of South America, and of China, too. I'm sure she's Spanish, + though her English is natural. She's travelled. We talked bull-fights. + She's seen them in Guayaquil, in Mexico, in Seville. She knows a lot about + sealskins. + </p> + <p> + “Now here's what bothers me. She knows music. I asked her if she played. + And he's fixed that place up like a palace. That being so, why hasn't he a + piano for her? Another thing: she's quick and lively and he watches her + whenever she talks. He's on pins and needles, and continually breaking in + and leading the conversation. Say, did you ever hear that Swithin Hall was + married?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me, I don't know,” the mate replied. “Never entered my head to + think about it.” + </p> + <p> + “He introduced her as Mrs. Hall. And Watson and Gorman call him Hall. + They're a precious pair, those two men. I don't understand it at all.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do about it?” Snow asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hang around a while. There are some books ashore there I want to + read. Suppose you send that topmast down in the morning and generally + overhaul. We've been through a hurricane, you know. Set up the rigging + while you're about it. Get things pretty well adrift, and take your time.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The next day Grief's suspicions found further food. Ashore early, he + strolled across the little island to the barracks occupied by the divers. + </p> + <p> + They were just boarding the boats when he arrived, and it struck him that + for Kanakas they behaved more like chain-gang prisoners. The three white + men were there, and Grief noted that each carried a rifle. Hall greeted + him jovially enough, but Gorman and Watson scowled as they grunted curt + good mornings. + </p> + <p> + A moment afterward one of the Kanakas, as he bent to place his oar, + favoured Grief with a slow, deliberate wink. The man's face was familiar, + one of the thousands of native sailors and divers he had encountered + drifting about in the island trade. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell them who I am,” Grief said, in Tahitian. “Did you ever sail + for me?” + </p> + <p> + The man's head nodded and his mouth opened, but before he could speak he + was suppressed by a savage “Shut up!” from Watson, who was already in the + sternsheets. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon,” Grief said. “I ought to have known better.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” Hall interposed. “The trouble is they're too much talk + and not enough work. Have to be severe with them, or they wouldn't get + enough shell to pay their grub.” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded sympathetically. “I know them. Got a crew of them myself—the + lazy swine. Got to drive them like niggers to get a half-day's work out of + them.” + </p> + <p> + “What was you sayin' to him?” Gorman blurted in bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “I was asking how the shell was, and how deep they were diving.” + </p> + <p> + “Thick,” Hall took over the answering. “We're working now in about ten + fathom. It's right out there, not a hundred yards off. Want to come + along?” + </p> + <p> + Half the day Grief spent with the boats, and had lunch in the bungalow. In + the afternoon he loafed, taking a siesta in the big living-room, reading + some, and talking for half an hour with Mrs. Hall. After dinner, he played + billiards with her husband. It chanced that Grief had never before + encountered Swithin Hall, yet the latter's fame as an expert at billiards + was the talk of the beaches from Levuka to Honolulu. But the man Grief + played with this night proved most indifferent at the game. His wife + showed herself far cleverer with the cue. + </p> + <p> + When he went on board the <i>Uncle Toby</i> Grief routed Jackie-Jackie out + of bed. He described the location of the barracks, and told the Tongan to + swim softly around and have talk with the Kanakas. In two hours + Jackie-Jackie was back. He shook his head as he stood dripping before + Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Very funny t'ing,” he reported. “One white man stop all the time. He has + big rifle. He lay in water and watch. Maybe twelve o'clock, other white + man come and take rifle. First white man go to bed. Other man stop now + with rifle. No good. Me cannot talk with Kanakas. Me come back.” + </p> + <p> + “By George!” Grief said to Snow, after the Tongan had gone back to his + bunk. “I smell something more than shell. Those three men are standing + watches over their Kanakas. That man's no more Swithin Hall than I am.” + </p> + <p> + Snow whistled from the impact of a new idea. + </p> + <p> + “I've got it!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “And I'll name it,” Grief retorted, “It's in your mind that the <i>Emily + L.</i> was their schooner?” + </p> + <p> + “Just that. They're raising and rotting the shell, while she's gone for + more divers, or provisions, or both.” + </p> + <p> + “And I agree with you.” Grief glanced at the cabin clock and evinced signs + of bed-going. “He's a sailor. The three of them are. But they're not + island men. They're new in these waters.” + </p> + <p> + Again Snow whistled. + </p> + <p> + “And the <i>Emily L.</i> is lost with all hands,” he said. “We know that. + They're marooned here till Swithin Hall comes. Then he'll catch them with + all the shell.” + </p> + <p> + “Or they'll take possession of his schooner.” + </p> + <p> + “Hope they do!” Snow muttered vindictively. “Somebody ought to rob him. + Wish I was in their boots. I'd balance off that sixty thousand.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + A week passed, during which time the <i>Uncle Toby</i> was ready for sea, + while Grief managed to allay any suspicion of him by the shore crowd. + </p> + <p> + Even Gorman and Watson accepted him at his self-description. Throughout + the week Grief begged and badgered them for the longitude of the island. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't have me leave here lost,” he finally urged. “I can't get a + line on my chronometer without your longitude.” + </p> + <p> + Hall laughingly refused. + </p> + <p> + “You're too good a navigator, Mr. Anstey, not to fetch New Guinea or some + other high land.” + </p> + <p> + “And you're too good a navigator, Mr. Hall,” Grief replied, “not to know + that I can fetch your island any time by running down its latitude.” + </p> + <p> + On the last evening, ashore, as usual, to dinner, Grief got his first view + of the pearls they had collected. Mrs. Hall, waxing enthusiastic, had + asked her husband to bring forth the “pretties,” and had spent half an + hour showing them to Grief. His delight in them was genuine, as well as + was his surprise that they had made so rich a haul. + </p> + <p> + “The lagoon is virgin,” Hall explained. “You saw yourself that most of the + shell is large and old. But it's funny that we got most of the valuable + pearls in one small patch in the course of a week. It was a little + treasure house. Every oyster seemed filled—seed pearls by the quart, + of course, but the perfect ones, most of that bunch there, came out of the + small patch.” + </p> + <p> + Grief ran his eye over them and knew their value ranged from one hundred + to a thousand dollars each, while the several selected large ones went far + beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the pretties! the pretties!” Mrs. Hall cried, bending forward + suddenly and kissing them. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later she arose to say good-night. + </p> + <p> + “It's good-bye,” Grief said, as he took her hand. “We sail at daylight.” + </p> + <p> + “So suddenly!” she cried, while Grief could not help seeing the quick + light of satisfaction in her husband's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Grief continued. “All the repairs are finished. I can't get the + longitude of your island out of your husband, though I'm still in hopes + he'll relent.” + </p> + <p> + Hall laughed and shook his head, and, as his wife left the room, proposed + a last farewell nightcap. They sat over it, smoking and talking. + </p> + <p> + “What do you estimate they're worth?” Grief asked, indicating the spread + of pearls on the table. “I mean what the pearl-buyers would give you in + open market?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, seventy-five or eighty thousand,” Hall said carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you're underestimating. I know pearls a bit. Take that biggest + one. It's perfect. Not a cent less than five thousand dollars. Some + multimillionaire will pay double that some day, when the dealers have + taken their whack. And never minding the seed pearls, you've got quarts of + baroques there. And baroques are coming into fashion. They're picking up + and doubling on themselves every year.” + </p> + <p> + Hall gave the trove of pearls a closer and longer scrutiny, estimating the + different parcels and adding the sum aloud. + </p> + <p> + “You're right,” he admitted. “They're worth a hundred thousand right now.” + </p> + <p> + “And at what do you figure your working expenses?” Grief went on. “Your + time, and your two men's, and the divers'?” + </p> + <p> + “Five thousand would cover it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they stand to net you ninety-five thousand?” + </p> + <p> + “Something like that. But why so curious?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I was just trying——” Grief paused and drained his glass. + “Just trying to reach some sort of an equitable arrangement. Suppose I + should give you and your people a passage to Sydney and the five thousand + dollars—or, better, seven thousand five hundred. You've worked + hard.” + </p> + <p> + Without commotion or muscular movement the other man became alert and + tense. His round-faced geniality went out like the flame of a snuffed + candle. No laughter clouded the surface of the eyes, and in their depths + showed the hard, dangerous soul of the man. He spoke in a low, deliberate + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Now just what in hell do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + Grief casually relighted his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know just how to begin,” he said. “The situation is—er—is + embarrassing for you. You see, I'm trying to be fair. As I say, you've + worked hard. I don't want to confiscate the pearls. I want to pay you for + your time and trouble, and expense.” + </p> + <p> + Conviction, instantaneous and absolute, froze on the other's face. + </p> + <p> + “And I thought you were in Europe,” he muttered. Hope flickered for a + moment. “Look here, you're joking me. How do I know you're Swithin Hall?” + </p> + <p> + Grief shrugged his shoulders. “Such a joke would be in poor taste, after + your hospitality. And it is equally in poor taste to have two Swithin + Halls on the island.” + </p> + <p> + “Since you're Swithin Hall, then who the deuce am I? Do you know that, + too?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Grief answered airily. “But I'd like to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's none of your business.” + </p> + <p> + “I grant it. Your identity is beside the point. Besides, I know your + schooner, and I can find out who you are from that.” + </p> + <p> + “What's her name?” + </p> + <p> + “The <i>Emily L.</i> + </p> + <p> + “Correct. I'm Captain Raffy, owner and master.” + </p> + <p> + “The seal-poacher? I've heard of you. What under the sun brought you down + here on my preserves?” + </p> + <p> + “Needed the money. The seal herds are about finished.” + </p> + <p> + “And the out-of-the-way places of the world are better policed, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty close to it. And now about this present scrape, Mr. Hall. I can + put up a nasty fight. What are you going to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “What I said. Even better. What's the <i>Emily L.</i> worth?” + </p> + <p> + “She's seen her day. Not above ten thousand, which would be robbery. Every + time she's in a rough sea I'm afraid she'll jump her ballast through her + planking.” + </p> + <p> + “She has jumped it, Captain Raffy. I sighted her bottom-up after the blow. + Suppose we say she was worth seven thousand five hundred. I'll pay over to + you fifteen thousand and give you a passage. Don't move your hands from + your lap.” Grief stood up, went over to him, and took his revolver. “Just + a necessary precaution, Captain. Now you'll go on board with me. I'll + break the news to Mrs. Raffy afterward, and fetch her out to join you.” + </p> + <p> + “You're behaving handsomely, Mr. Hall, I must say,” Captain Raffy + volunteered, as the whaleboat came alongside the <i>Uncle Toby</i>. “But + watch out for Gorman and Watson. They're ugly customers. And, by the way, + I don't like to mention it, but you've seen my wife. I've given her four + or five pearls. Watson and Gorman were willing.” + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, Captain. Say no more. They shall remain hers. Is that you, + Mr. Snow? Here's a friend I want you to take charge of—Captain + Raffy. I'm going ashore for his wife.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + David Grief sat writing at the library table in the bungalow living-room. + Outside, the first pale of dawn was showing. He had had a busy night. Mrs. + Raffy had taken two hysterical hours to pack her and Captain Raffy's + possessions. Gorman had been caught asleep, but Watson, standing guard + over the divers, had shown fight. Matters did not reach the shooting + stage, but it was only after it had been demonstrated to him that the game + was up that he consented to join his companions on board. For temporary + convenience, he and Gorman were shackled in the mate's room, Mrs. Raffy + was confined in Grief's, and Captain Raffy made fast to the cabin table. + </p> + <p> + Grief finished the document and read over what he had written: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Swithin Hall, + for pearls taken from his lagoon (estimated) $100,000 + + To Herbert Snow, paid in full for salvage from + steamship Cascade in pearls (estimated) $60,000 + + To Captain Raffy, salary and expenses for + collecting pearls 7,500 + + To Captain Raffy, reimbursement for + schooner Emily L., lost in hurricane 7,500 + + To Mrs. Raffy, for good will, five fair + pearls (estimated) 1,100 + + To passage to Syndey, four persons, + at $120. 480 + + To white lead for painting Swithin + Hall's two whaleboats 9 + + To Swithin Hall, balance in pearls (estimated) + which are to be found in drawer of library table 23,411 + + $100,000—$100,000 +</pre> + <p> + Grief signed and dated, paused, and added at the bottom: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>P. S.—Still owing to Swithin Hall three books, borrowed + from library: Hudson's “Law of Psychic Phenomena,” Zola's + “Paris,” and Mahan's “Problem of Asia.” These books, or full + value, can be collected of said David Griefs Sydney office</i>. +</pre> + <p> + He shut off the electric light, picked up the bundle of books, carefully + latched the front door, and went down to the waiting whaleboat. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Six—A GOBOTO NIGHT + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + At Goboto the traders come off their schooners and the planters drift in + from far, wild coasts, and one and all they assume shoes, white duck + trousers, and various other appearances of civilization. At Goboto mail is + received, bills are paid, and newspapers, rarely more than five weeks old, + are accessible; for the little island, belted with its coral reefs, + affords safe anchorage, is the steamer port of call, and serves as the + distributing point for the whole wide-scattered group. + </p> + <p> + Life at Goboto is heated, unhealthy, and lurid, and for its size it + asserts the distinction of more cases of acute alcoholism than any other + spot in the world. Guvutu, over in the Solomons, claims that it drinks + between drinks. Goboto does not deny this. It merely states, in passing, + that in the Goboton chronology no such interval of time is known. It also + points out its import statistics, which show a far larger per capita + consumption of spiritous liquors. Guvutu explains this on the basis that + Goboto does a larger business and has more visitors. Goboto retorts that + its resident population is smaller and that its visitors are thirstier. + And the discussion goes on interminably, principally because of the fact + that the disputants do not live long enough to settle it. + </p> + <p> + Goboto is not large. The island is only a quarter of a mile in diameter, + and on it are situated an admiralty coal-shed (where a few tons of coal + have lain untouched for twenty years), the barracks for a handful of black + labourers, a big store and warehouse with sheet-iron roofs, and a bungalow + inhabited by the manager and his two clerks. They are the white + population. An average of one man out of the three is always to be found + down with fever. The job at Goboto is a hard one. It is the policy of the + company to treat its patrons well, as invading companies have found out, + and it is the task of the manager and clerks to do the treating. + Throughout the year traders and recruiters arrive from far, dry cruises, + and planters from equally distant and dry shores, bringing with them + magnificent thirsts. Goboto is the mecca of sprees, and when they have + spread they go back to their schooners and plantations to recuperate. + </p> + <p> + Some of the less hardy require as much as six months between visits. But + for the manager and his assistants there are no such intervals. They are + on the spot, and week by week, blown in by monsoon or southeast trade, the + schooners come to anchor, cargo'd with copra, ivory nuts, pearl-shell, + hawksbill turtle, and thirst. + </p> + <p> + It is a very hard job at Goboto. That is why the pay is twice that on + other stations, and that is why the company selects only courageous and + intrepid men for this particular station. They last no more than a year or + so, when the wreckage of them is shipped back to Australia, or the remains + of them are buried in the sand across on the windward side of the islet. + Johnny Bassett, almost the legendary hero of Goboto, broke all records. He + was a remittance man with a remarkable constitution, and he lasted seven + years. His dying request was duly observed by his clerks, who pickled him + in a cask of trade-rum (paid for out of their own salaries) and shipped + him back to his people in England. Nevertheless, at Goboto, they tried to + be gentlemen. For that matter, though something was wrong with them, they + were gentlemen, and had been gentlemen. That was why the great unwritten + rule of Goboto was that visitors should put on pants and shoes. + Breech-clouts, lava-lavas, and bare legs were not tolerated. When Captain + Jensen, the wildest of the Blackbirders though descended from old New York + Knickerbocker stock, surged in, clad in loin-cloth, undershirt, two belted + revolvers and a sheath-knife, he was stopped at the beach. This was in the + days of Johnny Bassett, ever a stickler in matters of etiquette. Captain + Jensen stood up in the sternsheets of his whaleboat and denied the + existence of pants on his schooner. Also, he affirmed his intention of + coming ashore. They of Goboto nursed him back to health from a bullet-hole + through his shoulder, and in addition handsomely begged his pardon, for no + pants had they found on his schooner. And finally, on the first day he sat + up, Johnny Bassett kindly but firmly assisted his guest into a pair of + pants of his own. This was the great precedent. In all the succeeding + years it had never been violated. White men and pants were undivorce-able. + Only niggers ran naked. Pants constituted caste. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + On this night things were, with one exception, in nowise different from + any other night. Seven of them, with glimmering eyes and steady legs, had + capped a day of Scotch with swivel-sticked cocktails and sat down to + dinner. Jacketed, trousered, and shod, they were: Jerry McMurtrey, the + manager; Eddy Little and Jack Andrews, clerks; Captain Stapler, of the + recruiting ketch <i>Merry</i>; Darby Shryleton, planter from Tito-Ito; + Peter Gee, a half-caste Chinese pearl-buyer who ranged from Ceylon to the + Paumotus, and Alfred Deacon, a visitor who had stopped off from the last + steamer. At first wine was served by the black servants to those that + drank it, though all quickly shifted back to Scotch and soda, pickling + their food as they ate it, ere it went into their calcined, pickled + stomachs. + </p> + <p> + Over their coffee, they heard the rumble of an anchor-chain through a + hawse-pipe, tokening the arrival of a vessel. + </p> + <p> + “It's David Grief,” Peter Gee remarked. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” Deacon demanded truculently, and then went on to deny + the half-caste's knowledge. “You chaps put on a lot of side over a new + chum. I've done some sailing myself, and this naming a craft when its sail + is only a blur, or naming a man by the sound of his anchor—it's—it's + unadulterated poppycock.” + </p> + <p> + Peter Gee was engaged in lighting a cigarette, and did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Some of the niggers do amazing things that way,” McMurtrey interposed + tactfully. + </p> + <p> + As with the others, this conduct of their visitor jarred on the manager. + From the moment of Peter Gee's arrival that afternoon Deacon had + manifested a tendency to pick on him. He had disputed his statements and + been generally rude. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it's because Peter's got Chink blood in him,” had been Andrews' + hypothesis. “Deacon's Australian, you know, and they're daffy down there + on colour.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy that's it,” McMurtrey had agreed. “But we can't permit any + bullying, especially of a man like Peter Gee, who's whiter than most white + men.” + </p> + <p> + In this the manager had been in nowise wrong. Peter Gee was that rare + creature, a good as well as clever Eurasian. In fact, it was the stolid + integrity of the Chinese blood that toned the recklessness and + licentiousness of the English blood which had run in his father's veins. + Also, he was better educated than any man there, spoke better English as + well as several other tongues, and knew and lived more of their own ideals + of gentlemanness than they did themselves. And, finally, he was a gentle + soul. Violence he deprecated, though he had killed men in his time. + Turbulence he abhorred. + </p> + <p> + He always avoided it as he would the plague. + </p> + <p> + Captain Stapler stepped in to help McMurtrey: + </p> + <p> + “I remember, when I changed schooners and came into Altman, the niggers + knew right off the bat it was me. I wasn't expected, either, much less to + be in another craft. They told the trader it was me. He used the glasses, + and wouldn't believe them. But they did know. Told me afterward they could + see it sticking out all over the schooner that I was running her.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon ignored him, and returned to the attack on the pearl-buyer. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know from the sound of the anchor that it was this + whatever-you-called-him man?” he challenged. + </p> + <p> + “There are so many things that go to make up such a judgment,” Peter Gee + answered. “It's very hard to explain. It would require almost a text + book.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” Deacon sneered. “Explanation that doesn't explain is + easy.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's for bridge?” Eddy Little, the second clerk, interrupted, looking up + expectantly and starting to shuffle. “You'll play, won't you, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “If he does, he's a bluffer,” Deacon cut back. “I'm getting tired of all + this poppycock. Mr. Gee, you will favour me and put yourself in a better + light if you tell how you know who that man was that just dropped anchor. + After that I'll play you piquet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd prefer bridge,” Peter answered. “As for the other thing, it's + something like this: By the sound it was a small craft—no + square-rigger. No whistle, no siren, was blown—again a small craft. + It anchored close in—still again a small craft, for steamers and big + ships must drop hook outside the middle shoal. Now the entrance is + tortuous. There is no recruiting nor trading captain in the group who + dares to run the passage after dark. Certainly no stranger would. There <i>were</i> + two exceptions. The first was Margonville. But he was executed by the High + Court at Fiji. Remains the other exception, David Grief. Night or day, in + any weather, he runs the passage. This is well known to all. A possible + factor, in case Grief were somewhere else, would be some young dare-devil + of a skipper. In this connection, in the first place, I don't know of any, + nor does anybody else. In the second place, David Grief is in these + waters, cruising on the <i>Gunga</i>, which is shortly scheduled to leave + here for Karo-Karo. I spoke to Grief, on the <i>Gunga</i>, in Sandfly + Passage, day before yesterday. He was putting a trader ashore on a new + station. He said he was going to call in at Babo, and then come on to + Goboto. He has had ample time to get here. I have heard an anchor drop. + Who else than David Grief can it be? Captain Donovan is skipper of the <i>Gunga</i>, + and him I know too well to believe that he'd run in to Goboto after dark + unless his owner were in charge. In a few minutes David Grief will enter + through that door and say, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks.' + I'll wager fifty pounds he's the man that enters and that his words will + be, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks. '” Deacon was for the + moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he's answered you,” McMurtrey laughed genially. “And I'll back his + bet myself for a couple of sovereigns.” + </p> + <p> + “Bridge! Who's going to take a hand?” Eddy Little cried impatiently. “Come + on, Peter!” + </p> + <p> + “The rest of you play,” Deacon said. “He and I are going to play piquet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd prefer bridge,” Peter Gee said mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you play piquet?” + </p> + <p> + The pearl-buyer nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then come on. Maybe I can show I know more about that than I do about + anchors.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say——” McMurtrey began. + </p> + <p> + “You can play bridge,” Deacon shut him off. “We prefer piquet.” + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly, Peter Gee was bullied into a game that he knew would be + unhappy. + </p> + <p> + “Only a rubber,” he said, as he cut for deal. + </p> + <p> + “For how much?” Deacon asked. + </p> + <p> + Peter Gee shrugged his shoulders. “As you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Hundred up—five pounds a game?” + </p> + <p> + Peter Gee agreed. + </p> + <p> + “With the lurch double, of course, ten pounds?” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Peter Gee. + </p> + <p> + At another table four of the others sat in at bridge. Captain Stapler, who + was no card-player, looked on and replenished the long glasses of Scotch + that stood at each man's right hand. McMurtrey, with poorly concealed + apprehension, followed as well as he could what went on at the piquet + table. His fellow Englishmen as well were shocked by the behaviour of the + Australian, and all were troubled by fear of some untoward act on his + part. That he was working up his animosity against the half-caste, and + that the explosion might come any time, was apparent to all. + </p> + <p> + “I hope Peter loses,” McMurtrey said in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + “Not if he has any luck,” Andrews answered. “He's a wizard at piquet. I + know by experience.” + </p> + <p> + That Peter Gee was lucky was patent from the continual badgering of + Deacon, who filled his glass frequently. He had lost the first game, and, + from his remarks, was losing the second, when the door opened and David + Grief entered. + </p> + <p> + “In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks,” he remarked casually to the + assembled company, ere he gripped the manager's hand. “Hello, Mac! Say, my + skipper's down in the whaleboat. He's got a silk shirt, a tie, and tennis + shoes, all complete, but he wants you to send a pair of pants down. Mine + are too small, but yours will fit him. Hello, Eddy! How's that <i>ngari-ngari?</i> + You up, Jock? The miracle has happened. No one down with fever, and no one + remarkably drunk.” He sighed, “I suppose the night is young yet. Hello, + Peter! Did you catch that big squall an hour after you left us? We had to + let go the second anchor.” + </p> + <p> + While he was being introduced to Deacon, McMurtrey dispatched a house-boy + with the pants, and when Captain Donovan came in it was as a white man + should—at least in Goboto. + </p> + <p> + Deacon lost the second game, and an outburst heralded the fact. Peter Gee + devoted himself to lighting a cigarette and keeping quiet. + </p> + <p> + “What?—are you quitting because you're ahead?” Deacon demanded. + </p> + <p> + Grief raised his eyebrows questioningly to McMurtrey, who frowned back his + own disgust. + </p> + <p> + “It's the rubber,” Peter Gee answered. + </p> + <p> + “It takes three games to make a rubber. It's my deal. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + Peter Gee acquiesced, and the third game was on. + </p> + <p> + “Young whelp—he needs a lacing,” McMurtrey muttered to Grief. “Come + on, let us quit, you chaps. I want to keep an eye on him. If he goes too + far I'll throw him out on the beach, company instructions or no.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” Grief queried. + </p> + <p> + “A left-over from last steamer. Company's orders to treat him nice. He's + looking to invest in a plantation. Has a ten-thousand-pound letter of + credit with the company. He's got 'all-white Australia' on the brain. + Thinks because his skin is white and because his father was once + Attorney-General of the Commonwealth that he can be a cur. That's why he's + picking on Peter, and you know Peter's the last man in the world to make + trouble or incur trouble. Damn the company. I didn't engage to wet-nurse + its infants with bank accounts. Come on, fill your glass, Grief. The man's + a blighter, a blithering blighter.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe he's only young,” Grief suggested. + </p> + <p> + “He can't contain his drink—that's clear.” The manager glared his + disgust and wrath. “If he raises a hand to Peter, so help me, I'll give + him a licking myself, the little overgrown cad!” + </p> + <p> + The pearl-buyer pulled the pegs out of the cribbage board on which he was + scoring and sat back. He had won the third game. He glanced across to Eddy + Little, saying: + </p> + <p> + “I'm ready for the bridge, now.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't be a quitter,” Deacon snarled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, really, I'm tired of the game,” Peter Gee assured him with his + habitual quietness. + </p> + <p> + “Come on and be game,” Deacon bullied. “One more. You can't take my money + that way. I'm out fifteen pounds. Double or quits.” + </p> + <p> + McMurtrey was about to interpose, but Grief restrained him with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “If it positively is the last, all right,” said Peter Gee, gathering up + the cards. “It's my deal, I believe. As I understand it, this final is for + fifteen pounds. Either you owe me thirty or we quit even?” + </p> + <p> + “That's it, chappie. Either we break even or I pay you thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “Getting blooded, eh?” Grief remarked, drawing up a chair. + </p> + <p> + The other men stood or sat around the table, and Deacon played again in + bad luck. That he was a good player was clear. The cards were merely + running against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimity + was equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snapped and + growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Gee counted out, + while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. He glowered speechlessly + at his opponent. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like a lurch,” said Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Which is double,” said Peter Gee. + </p> + <p> + “There's no need your telling me,” Deacon snarled. “I've studied + arithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!” + </p> + <p> + The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table was an + insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals of + resentment. + </p> + <p> + “You've got fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you that + much,” Deacon went on. “I could teach you cards.” + </p> + <p> + The half-caste smiled and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money. + </p> + <p> + “There's a little game called casino—I wonder if you ever heard of + it?—a child's game.” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen it played,” the half-caste murmured gently. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” snapped Deacon. “Maybe you think you can play it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not for a moment. I'm afraid I haven't head enough for it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a bully game, casino,” Grief broke in pleasantly. “I like it very + much.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon ignored him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll play you ten quid a game—thirty-one points out,” was the + challenge to Peter Gee. “And I'll show you how little you know about + cards. Come on! Where's a full deck?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks,” the half-caste answered. “They are waiting for me in order + to make up a bridge set.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, come on,” Eddy Little begged eagerly. “Come on, Peter, let's get + started.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid of a little game like casino,” Deacon girded. “Maybe the stakes + are too high. I'll play you for pennies—or farthings, if you say + so.” + </p> + <p> + The man's conduct was a hurt and an affront to all of them. McMurtrey + could stand it no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Now hold on, Deacon. He says he doesn't want to play. Let him alone.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon turned raging upon his host; but before he could blurt out his + abuse, Grief had stepped into the breach. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to play casino with you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much, but I'm willing to learn.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm not teaching for pennies to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right,” Grief answered. “I'll play for almost any sum—within + reason, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon proceeded to dispose of this intruder with one stroke. + </p> + <p> + “I'll play you a hundred pounds a game, if that will do you any good.” + </p> + <p> + Grief beamed his delight. “That will be all right, very right. Let us + begin. Do you count sweeps?” + </p> + <p> + Deacon was taken aback. He had not expected a Goboton trader to be + anything but crushed by such a proposition. + </p> + <p> + “Do you count sweeps?” Grief repeated. + </p> + <p> + Andrews had brought him a new deck, and he was throwing out the joker. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” Deacon answered. “That's a sissy game.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad,” Grief coincided. “I don't like sissy games either.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't, eh? Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll play for + five hundred pounds a game.” + </p> + <p> + Again Deacon was taken aback. + </p> + <p> + “I'm agreeable,” Grief said, beginning to shuffle. “Cards and spades go + out first, of course, and then big and little casino, and the aces in the + bridge order of value. Is that right?” + </p> + <p> + “You're a lot of jokers down here,” Deacon laughed, but his laughter was + strained. “How do I know you've got the money?” + </p> + <p> + “By the same token I know you've got it. Mac, how's my credit with the + company?” + </p> + <p> + “For all you want,” the manager answered. + </p> + <p> + “You personally guarantee that?” Deacon demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly do,” McMurtrey said. “Depend upon it, the company will honour + his paper up and past your letter of credit.” + </p> + <p> + “Low deals,” Grief said, placing the deck before Deacon on the table. + </p> + <p> + The latter hesitated in the midst of the cut and looked around with + querulous misgiving at the faces of the others. The clerks and captains + nodded. + </p> + <p> + “You're all strangers to me,” Deacon complained. “How am I to know? Money + on paper isn't always the real thing.” + </p> + <p> + Then it was that Peter Gee, drawing a wallet from his pocket and borrowing + a fountain pen from McMurtrey, went into action. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't gone to buying yet,” the half-caste explained, “so the account + is intact. I'll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It's for fifteen + thousand. There, look at it.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon intercepted the letter of credit as it was being passed across the + table. He read it slowly, then glanced up at McMurtrey. + </p> + <p> + “Is that right?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It's just the same as your own, and just as good. The company's + paper is always good.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon cut the cards, won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle. But + his luck was still against him, and he lost the game. + </p> + <p> + “Another game,” he said. “We didn't say how many, and you can't quit with + me a loser. I want action.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shuffled and passed the cards for the cut. + </p> + <p> + “Let's play for a thousand,” Deacon said, when he had lost the second + game. And when the thousand had gone the way of the two five hundred bets + he proposed to play for two thousand. + </p> + <p> + “That's progression,” McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glare from + Deacon. But the manager was insistent. “You don't have to play + progression, Grief, unless you're foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's playing this game?” Deacon flamed at his host; and then, to Grief: + “I've lost two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?” + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded, the fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifest + unfairness of such betting was known to all of them. Though he had lost + three games out of four, Deacon had lost no money. By the child's device + of doubling his wager with each loss, he was bound, with the first game he + won, no matter how long delayed, to be even again. + </p> + <p> + He now evinced an unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck to be + cut. + </p> + <p> + “What?” Deacon cried. “You want more?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't got anything yet,” Grief murmured whimsically, as he began the + deal. “For the usual five hundred, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + The shame of what he had done must have tingled in Deacon, for he + answered, “No, we'll play for a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points is + too long. Why not twenty-one points out—if it isn't too rapid for + you?” + </p> + <p> + “That will make it a nice, quick, little game,” Grief agreed. + </p> + <p> + The former method of play was repeated. Deacon lost two games, doubled the + stake, and was again even. But Grief was patient, though the thing + occurred several times in the next hour's play. Then happened what he was + waiting for—a lengthening in the series of losing games for Deacon. + The latter doubled to four thousand and lost, doubled to eight thousand + and lost, and then proposed to double to sixteen thousand. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. “You can't do that, you know. You're only ten + thousand credit with the company.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you won't give me action?” Deacon asked hoarsely. “You mean that + with eight thousand of my money you're going to quit?” + </p> + <p> + Grief smiled and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It's robbery, plain robbery,” Deacon went on. “You take my money and + won't give me action.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you're wrong. I'm perfectly willing to give you what action you've + got coming to you. You've got two thousand pounds of action yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll play it,” Deacon took him up. “You cut.” + </p> + <p> + The game was played in silence, save for irritable remarks and curses from + Deacon. Silently the onlookers filled and sipped their long Scotch + glasses. Grief took no notice of his opponent's outbursts, but + concentrated on the game. He was really playing cards, and there were + fifty-two in the deck to be kept track of, and of which he did keep track. + Two thirds of the way through the last deal he threw down his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Cards put me out,” he said. “I have twenty-seven.” + </p> + <p> + “If you've made a mistake,” Deacon threatened, his face white and drawn. + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall have lost. Count them.” + </p> + <p> + Grief passed over his stack of takings, and Deacon, with trembling + fingers, verified the count. He half shoved his chair back from the table + and emptied his glass. He looked about him at unsympathetic faces. + </p> + <p> + “I fancy I'll be catching the next steamer for Sydney,” he said, and for + the first time his speech was quiet and without bluster. + </p> + <p> + As Grief told them afterward: “Had he whined or raised a roar I wouldn't + have given him that last chance. As it was, he took his medicine like a + man, and I had to do it.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon glanced at his watch, simulated a weary yawn, and started to rise. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” Grief said. “Do you want further action?” + </p> + <p> + The other sank down in his chair, strove to speak, but could not, licked + his dry lips, and nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Donovan here sails at daylight in the <i>Gunga</i> for + Karo-Karo,” Grief began with seeming irrelevance. “Karo-Karo is a ring of + sand in the sea, with a few thousand cocoa-nut trees. Pandanus grows + there, but they can't grow sweet potatoes nor taro. There aremabout eight + hundred natives, a king and two prime ministers, and the last three named + are the only ones who wear any clothes. It's a sort of God-forsaken little + hole, and once a year I send a schooner up from Goboto. The drinking water + is brackish, but old Tom Butler has survived on it for a dozen years. He's + the only white man there, and he has a boat's crew of five Santa Cruz boys + who would run away or kill him if they could. That is why they were sent + there. They can't run away. He is always supplied with the hard cases from + the plantations. There are no missionaries. Two native Samoan teachers + were clubbed to death on the beach when they landed several years ago. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally, you are wondering what it is all about. But have patience. As + I have said, Captain Donovan sails on the annual trip to Karo-Karo at + daylight to-morrow. Tom Butler is old, and getting quite helpless. I've + tried to retire him to Australia, but he says he wants to remain and die + on Karo-Karo, and he will in the next year or so. He's a queer old codger. + Now the time is due for me to send some white man up to take the work off + his hands. I wonder how you'd like the job. You'd have to stay two years. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on! I've not finished. You've talked frequently of action this + evening. There's no action in betting away what you've never sweated for. + The money you've lost to me was left you by your father or some other + relative who did the sweating. But two years of work as trader on + Karo-Karo would mean something. I'll bet the ten thousand I've won from + you against two years of your time. If you win, the money's yours. If you + lose, you take the job at Karo-Karo and sail at daylight. Now that's what + might be called real action. Will you play?” + </p> + <p> + Deacon could not speak. His throat lumped and he nodded his head as he + reached for the cards. + </p> + <p> + “One thing more,” Grief said. “I can do even better. If you lose, two + years of your time are mine—naturally without wages. Nevertheless, + I'll pay you wages. If your work is satisfactory, if you observe all + instructions and rules, I'll pay you five thousand pounds a year for two + years. The money will be deposited with the company, to be paid to you, + with interest, when the time expires. Is that all right?” + </p> + <p> + “Too much so,” Deacon stammered. “You are unfair to yourself. A trader + only gets ten or fifteen pounds a month.” + </p> + <p> + “Put it down to action, then,” Grief said, with an air of dismissal. “And + before we begin, I'll jot down several of the rules. These you will repeat + aloud every morning during the two years—if you lose. They are for + the good of your soul. When you have repeated them aloud seven hundred and + thirty Karo-Karo mornings I am confident they will be in your memory to + stay. Lend me your pen, Mac. Now, let's see——” + </p> + <p> + He wrote steadily and rapidly for some minutes, then proceeded to read the + matter aloud: + </p> + <p> + “<i>I must always remember that one man is as good as another, save and + except when he thinks he is better.</i> + </p> + <p> + “<i>No matter how drunk I am I must not fail to be a gentleman. A + gentleman is a man who is gentle. Note: It would be better not to get + drunk</i>. + </p> + <p> + “<i>When I play a man's game with men, I must play like a man</i>. + </p> + <p> + “<i>A good curse, rightly used and rarely, is an efficient thing. Too many + curses spoil the cursing. Note: A curse cannot change a card seguence nor + cause the wind to blow.</i> + </p> + <p> + “<i>There is no license for a man to be less than a man. Ten thousand + pounds cannot purchase such a license.</i>” + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of the reading Deacon's face had gone white with anger. + Then had arisen, from neck to forehead, a slow and terrible flush that + deepened to the end of the reading. + </p> + <p> + “There, that will be all,” Grief said, as he folded the paper and tossed + it to the centre of the table. “Are you still ready to play the game?” + </p> + <p> + “I deserve it,” Deacon muttered brokenly. “I've been an ass. Mr. Gee, + before I know whether I win or lose, I want to apologize. Maybe it was the + whiskey, I don't know, but I'm an ass, a cad, a bounder—everything + that's rotten.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand, and the half-caste took it beamingly. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Grief,” he blurted out, “the boy's all right. Call the whole thing + off, and let's forget it in a final nightcap.” + </p> + <p> + Grief showed signs of debating, but Deacon cried: + </p> + <p> + “No; I won't permit it. I'm not a quitter. If it's Karo-Karo, it's + Karo-Karo. There's nothing more to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Right,” said Grief, as he began the shuffle. “If he's the right stuff to + go to Karo-Karo, Karo-Karo won't do him any harm.” + </p> + <p> + The game was close and hard. Three times they divided the deck between + them and “cards” was not scored. At the beginning of the fifth and last + deal, Deacon needed three points to go out, and Grief needed four. “Cards” + alone would put Deacon out, and he played for “cards”. He no longer + muttered or cursed, and played his best game of the evening. Incidentally + he gathered in the two black aces and the ace of hearts. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you can name the four cards I hold,” he challenged, as the last + of the deal was exhausted and he picked up his hand. + </p> + <p> + Grief nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then name them.” + </p> + <p> + “The knave of spades, the deuce of spades, the tray of hearts, and the ace + of diamonds,” Grief answered. + </p> + <p> + Those behind Deacon and looking at his hand made no sign. Yet the naming + had been correct. + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you play casino better than I,” Deacon acknowledged. “I can name + only three of yours, a knave, an ace, and big casino.” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong. There aren't five aces in the deck. You've taken in three and you + hold the fourth in your hand now.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, you're right,” Deacon admitted. “I did scoop in three. Anyway, + I'll make 'cards' on you. That's all I need.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll let you save little casino——” Grief paused to calculate. + “Yes, and the ace as well, and still I'll make 'cards' and go out with big + casino. Play.” + </p> + <p> + “No 'cards' and I win!” Deacon exulted as the last of the hand was played. + “I go out on little casino and the four aces. 'Big casino' and 'spades' + only bring you to twenty.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. “Some mistake, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Deacon declared positively. “I counted every card I took in. That's + the one thing I was correct on. I've twenty-six, and you've twenty-six.” + </p> + <p> + “Count again,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + Carefully and slowly, with trembling fingers, Deacon counted the cards he + had taken. There were twenty-five. He reached over to the corner of the + table, took up the rules Grief had written, folded them, and put them in + his pocket. Then he emptied his glass, and stood up. Captain Donovan + looked at his watch, yawned, and also arose. + </p> + <p> + “Going aboard, Captain?” Deacon asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the answer. “What time shall I send the whaleboat for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go with you now. We'll pick up my luggage from the <i>Billy</i> as + we go by, I was sailing on her for Babo in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon shook hands all around, after receiving a final pledge of good luck + on Karo-Karo. + </p> + <p> + “Does Tom Butler play cards?” he asked Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Solitaire,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll teach him double solitaire.” Deacon turned toward the door, + where Captain Donovan waited, and added with a sigh, “And I fancy he'll + skin me, too, if he plays like the rest of you island men.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Seven—THE FEATHERS OF THE SUN + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + It was the island of Fitu-Iva—the last independent Polynesian + stronghold in the South Seas. Three factors conduced to Fitu-Iva's + independence. The first and second were its isolation and the warlikeness + of its population. But these would not have saved it in the end had it not + been for the fact that Japan, France, Great Britain, Germany, and the + United States discovered its desirableness simultaneously. It was like + gamins scrambling for a penny. They got in one another's way. The war + vessels of the five Powers cluttered Fitu-Iva's one small harbour. There + were rumours of war and threats of war. Over its morning toast all the + world read columns about Fitu-Iva. As a Yankee blue jacket epitomized it + at the time, they all got their feet in the trough at once. + </p> + <p> + So it was that Fitu-Iva escaped even a joint protectorate, and King + Tulifau, otherwise Tui Tulifau, continued to dispense the high justice and + the low in the frame-house palace built for him by a Sydney trader out of + California redwood. Not only was Tui Tulifau every inch a king, but he was + every second a king. When he had ruled fifty-eight years and five months, + he was only fifty-eight years and three months old. That is to say, he had + ruled over five million seconds more than he had breathed, having been + crowned two months before he was born. + </p> + <p> + He was a kingly king, a royal figure of a man, standing six feet and a + half, and, without being excessively fat, weighing three hundred and + twenty pounds. But this was not unusual for Polynesian “chief stock.” + Sepeli, his queen, was six feet three inches and weighed two hundred and + sixty, while her brother, Uiliami, who commanded the army in the intervals + of resignation from the premiership, topped her by an inch and notched her + an even half-hundredweight. Tui Tulifau was a merry soul, a great feaster + and drinker. So were all his people merry souls, save in anger, when, on + occasion, they could be guilty even of throwing dead pigs at those who + made them wroth. Nevertheless, on occasion, they could fight like Maoris, + as piratical sandalwood traders and Blackbirders in the old days learned + to their cost. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Grief's schooner, the <i>Cantani</i>, had passed the Pillar Rocks at the + entrance two hours before and crept up the harbour to the whispering + flutters of a breeze that could not make up its mind to blow. It was a + cool, starlight evening, and they lolled about the poop waiting till their + snail's pace would bring them to the anchorage. Willie Smee, the + supercargo, emerged from the cabin, conspicuous in his shore clothes. The + mate glanced at his shirt, of the finest and whitest silk, and giggled + significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Dance, to-night, I suppose?” Grief observed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the mate. “It's Taitua. Willie's stuck on her.” + </p> + <p> + “Catch me,” the supercargo disclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Then she's stuck on you, and it's all the same,” the mate went on. “You + won't be ashore half an hour before you'll have a flower behind your ear, + a wreath on your head, and your arm around Taitua.” + </p> + <p> + “Simple jealousy,” Willie Smee sniffed. “You'd like to have her yourself, + only you can't.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't find shirts like that, that's why. I'll bet you half a crown you + won't sail from Fitu-Iva with that shirt.” + </p> + <p> + “And if Taitua doesn't get it, it's an even break Tui Tulifau does,” Grief + warned. “Better not let him spot that shirt, or it's all day with it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” Captain Boig agreed, turning his head from watching the + house lights on the shore. “Last voyage he fined one of my Kanakas out of + a fancy belt and sheath-knife.” He turned to the mate. “You can let go any + time, Mr. Marsh. Don't give too much slack. There's no sign of wind, and + in the morning we may shift opposite the copra-sheds.” + </p> + <p> + A minute later the anchor rumbled down. The whaleboat, already hoisted + out, lay alongside, and the shore-going party dropped into it. Save for + the Kanakas, who were all bent for shore, only Grief and the supercargo + were in the boat. At the head of the little coral-stone pier Willie Smee, + with an apologetic gurgle, separated from his employer and disappeared + down an avenue of palms. Grief turned in the opposite direction past the + front of the old mission church. Here, among the graves on the beach, + lightly clad in <i>ahu's</i> and <i>lava-lavas</i>, flower-crowned and + garlanded, with great phosphorescent hibiscus blossoms in their hair, + youths and maidens were dancing. Farther on, Grief passed the long, + grass-built <i>himine</i> house, where a few score of the elders sat in + long rows chanting the old hymns taught them by forgotten missionaries. He + passed also the palace of Tui Tulifau, where, by the lights and sounds, he + knew the customary revelry was going on. For of the happy South Sea isles, + Fitu-Iva was the happiest. They feasted and frolicked at births and + deaths, and the dead and the unborn were likewise feasted. + </p> + <p> + Grief held steadily along the Broom Road, which curved and twisted through + a lush growth of flowers and fern-like algarobas. The warm air was rich + with perfume, and overhead, outlined against the stars, were + fruit-burdened mangoes, stately avocado trees, and slender-tufted palms. + Every here and there were grass houses. Voices and laughter rippled + through the darkness. Out on the water flickering lights and soft-voiced + choruses marked the fishers returning from the reef. + </p> + <p> + At last Grief stepped aside from the road, stumbling over a pig that + grunted indignantly. Looking through an open door, he saw a stout and + elderly native sitting on a heap of mats a dozen deep. From time to time, + automatically, he brushed his naked legs with a cocoa-nut-fibre + fly-flicker. He wore glasses, and was reading methodically in what Grief + knew to be an English Bible. For this was Ieremia, his trader, so named + from the prophet Jeremiah. + </p> + <p> + Ieremia was lighter-skinned than the Fitu-Ivans, as was natural in a + full-blooded Samoan. Educated by the missionaries, as lay teacher he had + served their cause well over in the cannibal atolls to the westward. As a + reward, he had been sent to the paradise of Fitu-Iva, where all were or + had been good converts, to gather in the backsliders. Unfortunately, + Ieremia had become too well educated. A stray volume of Darwin, a nagging + wife, and a pretty Fitu-Ivan widow had driven him into the ranks of the + backsliders. It was not a case of apostasy. The effect of Darwin had been + one of intellectual fatigue. What was the use of trying to understand this + vastly complicated and enigmatical world, especially when one was married + to a nagging woman? As Ieremia slackened in his labours, the mission board + threatened louder and louder to send him back to the atolls, while his + wife's tongue grew correspondingly sharper. Tui Tulifau was a sympathetic + monarch, whose queen, on occasions when he was particularly drunk, was + known to beat him. For political reasons—the queen belonging to as + royal stock as himself and her brother commanding the army—Tui + Tulifau could not divorce her, but he could and did divorce Ieremia, who + promptly took up with commercial life and the lady of his choice. As an + independent trader he had failed, chiefly because of the disastrous + patronage of Tui Tulifau. To refuse credit to that merry monarch was to + invite confiscation; to grant him credit was certain bankruptcy. After a + year's idleness on the beach, leremia had become David Grief's trader, and + for a dozen years his service had been honourable and efficient, for Grief + had proven the first man who successfully refused credit to the king or + who collected when it had been accorded. + </p> + <p> + Ieremia looked gravely over the rims of his glasses when his employer + entered, gravely marked the place in the Bible and set it aside, and + gravely shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you came in person,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “How else could I come?” Grief laughed. + </p> + <p> + But Ieremia had no sense of humour, and he ignored the remark. + </p> + <p> + “The commercial situation on the island is damn bad,” he said with great + solemnity and an unctuous mouthing of the many-syllabled words. “My ledger + account is shocking.” + </p> + <p> + “Trade bad?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary. It has been excellent. The shelves are empty, + exceedingly empty. But——” His eyes glistened proudly. “But + there are many goods remaining in the storehouse; I have kept it carefully + locked.” + </p> + <p> + “Been allowing Tui Tulifau too much credit?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary. There has been no credit at all. And every old account + has been settled up.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't follow you, Ieremia,” Grief confessed. “What's the joke?—shelves + empty, no credit, old accounts all square, storehouse carefully locked—what's + the answer?” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia did not reply immediately. Reaching under the rear corner of the + mats, he drew forth a large cash-box. Grief noted and wondered that it was + not locked. The Samoan had always been fastidiously cautious in guarding + cash. The box seemed filled with paper money. He skinned off the top note + and passed it over. + </p> + <p> + “There is the answer.” + </p> + <p> + Grief glanced at a fairly well executed banknote. “<i>The First Royal Bank + of Fitu-Iva will pay to bearer on demand one pound sterling</i>,” he read. + In the centre was the smudged likeness of a native face. At the bottom was + the signature of Tui Tulifau, and the signature of Fulualea, with the + printed information appended, “<i>Chancellor of the Exchequer.</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Who the deuce is Fulualea?” Grief demanded. “It's Fijian, isn't it?—meaning + the feathers of the sun?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. It means the feathers of the sun. Thus does this base interloper + caption himself. He has come up from Fiji to turn Fitu-Iva upside down—that + is, commercially.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one of those smart Levuka boys, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia shook his head sadly. “No, this low fellow is a white man and a + scoundrel. He has taken a noble and high-sounding Fijian name and dragged + it in the dirt to suit his nefarious purposes. He has made Tui Tulifau + drunk. He has made him very drunk. He has kept him very drunk all the + time. In return, he has been made Chancellor of the Exchequer and other + things. He has issued this false paper and compelled the people to receive + it. He has levied a store tax, a copra tax, and a tobacco tax. There are + harbour dues and regulations, and other taxes. But the people are not + taxed—only the traders. When the copra tax was levied, I lowered the + purchasing price accordingly. Then the people began to grumble, and + Feathers of the Sun passed a new law, setting the old price back and + forbidding any man to lower it. Me he fined two pounds and five pigs, it + being well known that I possessed five pigs. You will find them entered in + the ledger. Hawkins, who is trader for the Fulcrum Company, was fined + first pigs, then gin, and, because he continued to make loud conversation, + the army came and burned his store. When I declined to sell, this Feathers + of the Sun fined me once more and promised to burn the store if again I + offended. So I sold all that was on the shelves, and there is the box full + of worthless paper. I shall be chagrined if you pay me my salary in paper, + but it would be just, no more than just. Now, what is to be done?” + </p> + <p> + Grief shrugged his shoulders. “I must first see this Feathers of the Sun + and size up the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must see him soon,” Ieremia advised. “Else he will have an + accumulation of many fines against you. Thus does he absorb all the coin + of the realm. He has it all now, save what has been buried in the ground.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + On his way back along the Broom Road, under the lighted lamps that marked + the entrance to the palace grounds, Grief encountered a short, rotund + gentleman, in unstarched ducks, smooth-shaven and of florid complexion, + who was just emerging. Something about his tentative, saturated gait was + familiar. Grief knew it on the instant. On the beaches of a dozen South + Sea ports had he seen it before. + </p> + <p> + “Of all men, Cornelius Deasy!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “If it ain't Grief himself, the old devil,” was the return greeting, as + they shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll come on board I've some choice smoky Irish,” Grief invited. + </p> + <p> + Cornelius threw back his shoulders and stiffened. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing doin', Mr. Grief. 'Tis Fulualea I am now. No blarneyin' of old + times for me. Also, and by the leave of his gracious Majesty King Tulifau, + 'tis Chancellor of the Exchequer I am, an' Chief Justice I am, save in + moments of royal sport when the king himself chooses to toy with the + wheels of justice.” + </p> + <p> + Grief whistled his amazement. “So you're Feathers of the Sun!” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer the native idiom,” was the correction. “Fulualea, an' it please + you. Not forgettin' old times, Mr. Grief, it sorrows the heart of me to + break you the news. You'll have to pay your legitimate import duties same + as any other trader with mind intent on robbin' the gentle Polynesian + savage on coral isles implanted. ——Where was I? Ah! I + remember. You've violated the regulations. With malice intent have you + entered the port of Fitu-Iva after sunset without sidelights burnin'. + Don't interrupt. With my own eyes did I see you. For which offence are you + fined the sum of five pounds. Have you any gin? 'Tis a serious offence. + Not lightly are the lives of the mariners of our commodious port to be + risked for the savin' of a penny'orth of oil. Did I ask: have you any gin? + Tis the harbour master that asks.” + </p> + <p> + “You've taken a lot on your shoulders,” Grief grinned. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis the white man's burden. These rapscallion traders have been puttin' + it all over poor Tui Tulif, the best-hearted old monarch that ever sat a + South Sea throne an' mopped grog-root from the imperial calabash. 'Tis I, + Cornelius—Fulualea, rather—that am here to see justice done. + Much as I dislike the doin' of it, as harbour master 'tis my duty to find + you guilty of breach of quarantine.” + </p> + <p> + “Quarantine?” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis the rulin' of the port doctor. No intercourse with the shore till + the ship is passed. What dire calamity to the confidin' native if chicken + pox or whoopin' cough was aboard of you! Who is there to protect the + gentle, confidin' Polynesian? I, Fulualea, the Feathers of the Sun, on my + high mission.” + </p> + <p> + “Who in hell is the port doctor?” Grief queried. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis me, Fulualea. Your offence is serious. Consider yourself fined five + cases of first-quality Holland gin.” + </p> + <p> + Grief laughed heartily. “We'll compromise, Cornelius. Come aboard and have + a drink.” + </p> + <p> + The Feathers of the Sun waved the proffer aside grandly. “'Tis bribery. + I'll have none of it—me faithful to my salt. And wherefore did you + not present your ship's papers? As chief of the custom house you are fined + five pounds and two more cases of gin.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Cornelius. A joke's a joke, but this one has gone far enough. + This is not Levuka. I've half a mind to pull your nose for you. You can't + buck me.” + </p> + <p> + The Feathers of the Sun retreated unsteadily and in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Lay no violence on me,” he threatened. “You're right. This is not Levuka. + And by the same token, with Tui Tulifau and the royal army behind me, buck + you is just the thing I can and will. You'll pay them fines promptly, or + I'll confiscate your vessel. You're not the first. What does that Chink + pearl-buyer, Peter Gee, do but slip into harbour, violatin' all + regulations an' makin' rough house for the matter of a few paltry fines. + No; he wouldn't pay 'em, and he's on the beach now thinkin' it over.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say——” + </p> + <p> + “Sure an' I do. In the high exercise of office I seized his schooner. A + fifth of the loyal army is now in charge on board of her. She'll be sold + this day week. Some ten tons of shell in the hold, and I'm wonderin' if I + can trade it to you for gin. I can promise you a rare bargain. How much + gin did you say you had?” + </p> + <p> + “Still more gin, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “An' why not? 'Tis a royal souse is Tui Tulifau. Sure it keeps my wits + workin' overtime to supply him, he's that amazin' liberal with it. The + whole gang of hanger-on chiefs is perpetually loaded to the guards. It's + disgraceful. Are you goin' to pay them fines, Mr. Grief, or is it to + harsher measures I'll be forced?” + </p> + <p> + Grief turned impatiently on his heel. + </p> + <p> + “Cornelius, you're drunk. Think it over and come to your senses. The old + rollicking South Sea days are gone. You can't play tricks like that now.” + </p> + <p> + “If you think you're goin' on board, Mr. Grief, I'll save you the trouble. + I know your kind, I foresaw your stiff-necked stubbornness. An' it's + forestalled you are. 'Tis on the beach you'll find your crew. The vessel's + seized.” + </p> + <p> + Grief turned back on him in the half-belief still that he was joking. + Fulualea again retreated in alarm. The form of a large man loomed beside + him in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Uiliami?” Fulualea crooned. “Here is another sea pirate. Stand + by me with the strength of thy arm, O Herculean brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Greeting, Uiliami,” Grief said. “Since when has Fitu-Iva come to be run + by a Levuka beachcomber? He says my schooner has been seized. Is it true?” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” Uiliami boomed from his deep chest. “Have you any more silk + shirts like Willie Smee's? Tui Tulifau would like such a shirt. He has + heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis all the same,” Fulualea interrupted. “Shirts or schooners, the king + shall have them.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather high-handed, Cornelius,” Grief murmured. “It's rank piracy. You + seized my vessel without giving me a chance.” + </p> + <p> + “A chance is it? As we stood here, not five minutes gone, didn't you + refuse to pay your fines?” + </p> + <p> + “But she was already seized.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, an' why not? Didn't I know you'd refuse? 'Tis all fair, an' no + injustice done—Justice, the bright, particular star at whose shining + altar Cornelius Deasy—or Fulualea, 'tis the same thing—ever + worships. Get thee gone, Mr. Trader, or I'll set the palace guards on you. + Uiliami, 'tis a desperate character, this trader man. Call the guards.” + </p> + <p> + Uiliami blew the whistle suspended on his broad bare chest by a cord of + cocoanut sennit. Grief reached out an angry hand for Cornelius, who + titubated into safety behind Uiliami's massive bulk. A dozen strapping + Polynesians, not one under six feet, ran down the palace walk and ranged + behind their commander. + </p> + <p> + “Get thee gone, Mr. Trader,” Cornelius ordered. “The interview is + terminated. We'll try your several cases in the mornin'. Appear promptly + at the palace at ten o'clock to answer to the followin' charges, to wit: + breach of the peace; seditious and treasonable utterance; violent assault + on the chief magistrate with intent to cut, wound, maim, an' bruise; + breach of quarantine; violation of harbour regulations; and gross breakage + of custom house rules. In the mornin', fellow, in the mornin', justice + shall be done while the breadfruit falls. And the Lord have mercy on your + soul.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Before the hour set for the trial Grief, accompanied by Peter Gee, won + access to Tui Tulifau. The king, surrounded by half a dozen chiefs, lay on + mats under the shade of the avocados in the palace compound. Early as was + the hour, palace maids were industriously serving squarefaces of gin. The + king was glad to see his old friend Davida, and regretful that he had run + foul of the new regulations. Beyond that he steadfastly avoided discussion + of the matter in hand. All protests of the expropriated traders were + washed away in proffers of gin. “Have a drink,” was his invariable reply, + though once he unbosomed himself enough to say that Feathers of the Sun + was a wonderful man. Never had palace affairs been so prosperous. Never + had there been so much money in the treasury, nor so much gin in + circulation. “Well pleased am I with Fulualea,” he concluded. “Have a + drink.” + </p> + <p> + “We've got to get out of this <i>pronto</i>,” Grief whispered to Peter Gee + a few minutes later, “or we'll be a pair of boiled owls. Also, I am to be + tried for arson, or heresy, or leprosy, or something, in a few minutes, + and I must control my wits.” + </p> + <p> + As they withdrew from the royal presence, Grief caught a glimpse of + Sepeli, the queen. She was peering out at her royal spouse and his fellow + tipplers, and the frown on her face gave Grief his cue. Whatever was to be + accomplished must be through her. + </p> + <p> + In another shady corner of the big compound Cornelius was holding court. + He had been at it early, for when Grief arrived the case of Willie Smee + was being settled. The entire royal army, save that portion in charge of + the seized vessels, was in attendance. + </p> + <p> + “Let the defendant stand up,” said Cornelius, “and receive the just and + merciful sentence of the Court for licentious and disgraceful conduct + unbecomin' a supercargo. The defendant says he has no money. Very well. + The Court regrets it has no calaboose. In lieu thereof, and in view of the + impoverished condition of the defendant, the Court fines said defendant + one white silk shirt of the same kind, make and quality at present worn by + defendant.” + </p> + <p> + Cornelius nodded to several of the soldiers, who led the supercargo away + behind an avocado tree. A minute later he emerged, minus the garment in + question, and sat down beside Grief. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been up to?” Grief asked. + </p> + <p> + “Blessed if I know. What crimes have you committed?” + </p> + <p> + “Next case,” said Cornelius in his most extra-legal tones. “David Grief, + defendant, stand up. The Court has considered the evidence in the case, or + cases, and renders the following judgment, to wit:—Shut up!” he + thundered at Grief, who had attempted to interrupt. “I tell you the + evidence has been considered, deeply considered. It is no wish of the + Court to lay additional hardship on the defendant, and the Court takes + this opportunity to warn the defendant that he is liable for contempt. For + open and wanton violation of harbour rules and regulations, breach of + quarantine, and disregard of shipping laws, his schooner, the <i>Cantani</i>, + is hereby declared confiscated to the Government of Fitu-Iva, to be sold + at public auction, ten days from date, with all appurtenances, fittings, + and cargo thereunto pertaining. For the personal crimes of the defendant, + consisting of violent and turbulent conduct and notorious disregard of the + laws of the realm, he is fined in the sum of one hundred pounds sterling + and fifteen cases of gin. I will not ask you if you have anything to say. + But will you pay? That is the question.” + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime,” Cornelius went on, “consider yourself a prisoner at + large. There is no calaboose in which to confine you. And finally, it has + come to the knowledge of the Court, that at an early hour of this morning, + the defendant did wilfully and deliberately send Kanakas in his employ out + on the reef to catch fish for breakfast. This is distinctly an + infringement of the rights of the fisherfolk of Fitu-Iva. Home industries + must be protected. This conduct of the defendant is severely reprehended + by the Court, and on any repetition of the offence the offender and + offenders, all and sundry, shall be immediately put to hard labour on the + improvement of the Broom Road. The court is dismissed.” + </p> + <p> + As they left the compound, Peter Gee nudged Grief to look where Tui + Tulifau reclined on the mats. The supercargo's shirt, stretched and + bulged, already encased the royal fat. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + “The thing is clear,” said Peter Gee, at a conference in Ieremia's house. + “Deasy has about gathered in all the coin. In the meantime he keeps the + king going on the gin he's captured, on our vessels. As soon as he can + maneuver it he'll take the cash and skin out on your craft or mine.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a low fellow,” Ieremia declared, pausing in the polishing of his + spectacles. “He is a scoundrel and a blackguard. He should be struck by a + dead pig, by a particularly dead pig.” + </p> + <p> + “The very thing,” said Grief. “He shall be struck by a dead pig. Ieremia, + I should not be surprised if you were the man to strike him with the dead + pig. Be sure and select a particularly dead one. Tui Tulifau is down at + the boat house broaching a case of my Scotch. I'm going up to the palace + to work kitchen politics with the queen. In the meantime you get a few + things on your shelves from the store-room. I'll lend you some, Hawkins. + And you, Peter, see the German store. Start in all of you, selling for + paper. Remember, I'll back the losses. If I'm not mistaken, in three days + we'll have a national council or a revolution. You, Ieremia, start + messengers around the island to the fishers and farmers, everywhere, even + to the mountain goat-hunters. Tell them to assemble at the palace three + days from now.” + </p> + <p> + “But the soldiers,” Ieremia objected. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take care of them. They haven't been paid for two months. Besides, + Uiliami is the queen's brother. Don't have too much on your shelves at a + time. As soon as the soldiers show up with paper, stop selling.” + </p> + <p> + “Then will they burn the stores,” said Ieremia. + </p> + <p> + “Let them. King Tulifau will pay for it if they do.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he pay for my shirt?” Willie Smee demanded. + </p> + <p> + “That is purely a personal and private matter between you and Tui + Tulifau,” Grief answered. + </p> + <p> + “It's beginning to split up the back,” the supercargo lamented. “I noticed + that much this morning when he hadn't had it on ten minutes. It cost me + thirty shillings and I only wore it once.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall I get a dead pig?” Ieremia asked. + </p> + <p> + “Kill one, of course,” said Grief. “Kill a small one.” + </p> + <p> + “A small one is worth ten shillings.” + </p> + <p> + “Then enter it in your ledger under operating expenses.” Grief paused a + moment. “If you want it particularly dead, it would be well to kill it at + once.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + “You have spoken well, Davida,” said Queen Sepeli. “This Fulualea has + brought a madness with him, and Tui Tulifau is drowned in gin. If he does + not grant the big council, I shall give him a beating. He is easy to beat + when he is in drink.” + </p> + <p> + She doubled up her fist, and such were her Amazonian proportions and the + determination in her face that Grief knew the council would be called. So + akin was the Fitu-Ivan tongue to the Samoan that he spoke it like a + native. + </p> + <p> + “And you, Uiliami,” he said, “have pointed out that the soldiers have + demanded coin and refused the paper Fulualea has offered them. Tell them + to take the paper and see that they be paid to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Why trouble?” Uiliami objected. “The king remains happily drunk. There is + much money in the treasury. And I am content. In my house are two cases of + gin and much goods from Hawkins's store.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent pig, O my brother!” Sepeli erupted. “Has not Davida spoken? + Have you no ears? When the gin and the goods in your house are gone, and + no more traders come with gin and goods, and Feathers of the Sun has run + away to Levuka with all the cash money of Fitu-Iva, what then will you do? + Cash money is silver and gold, but paper is only paper. I tell you the + people are grumbling. There is no fish in the palace. Yams and sweet + potatoes seem to have fled from the soil, for they come not. The mountain + dwellers have sent no wild goat in a week. Though Feathers of the Sun + compels the traders to buy copra at the old price, the people sell not, + for they will have none of the paper money. Only to-day have I sent + messengers to twenty houses. There are no eggs. Has Feathers of the Sun + put a blight upon the hens? I do not know. All I know is that there are no + eggs. Well it is that those who drink much eat little, else would there be + a palace famine. Tell your soldiers to receive their pay. Let it be in his + paper money.” + </p> + <p> + “And remember,” Grief warned, “though there be selling in the stores, when + the soldiers come with their paper it will be refused. And in three days + will be the council, and Feathers of the Sun will be as dead as a dead + pig.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The day of the council found the population of the island crowded into the + capital. By canoe and whaleboat, on foot and donkey-back, the five + thousand inhabitants of Fitu-Iva had trooped in. The three intervening + days had had their share of excitement. At first there had been much + selling from the sparse shelves of the traders. But when the soldiers + appeared, their patronage was declined and they were told to go to + Fulualea for coin. “Says it not so on the face of the paper,” the traders + demanded, “that for the asking the coin will be given in exchange?” + </p> + <p> + Only the strong authority of Uiliami had prevented the burning of the + traders' houses. As it was, one of Grief's copra-sheds went up in smoke + and was duly charged by Ieremia to the king's account. Ieremia himself had + been abused and mocked, and his spectacles broken. The skin was off Willie + Smee's knuckles. This had been caused by three boisterous soldiers who + violently struck their jaws thereon in quick succession. Captain Boig was + similarly injured. Peter Gee had come off undamaged, because it chanced + that it was bread-baskets and not jaws that struck him on the fists. + </p> + <p> + Tui Tulifau, with Sepeli at his side and surrounded by his convivial + chiefs, sat at the head of the council in the big compound. His right eye + and jaw were swollen as if he too had engaged in assaulting somebody's + fist. It was palace gossip that morning that Sepeli had administered a + conjugal beating. At any rate, her spouse was sober, and his fat bulged + spiritlessly through the rips in Willie Smee's silk shirt. His thirst was + prodigious, and he was continually served with young drinking nuts. + Outside the compound, held back by the army, was the mass of the common + people. Only the lesser chiefs, village maids, village beaux, and talking + men with their staffs of office were permitted inside. Cornelius Deasy, as + befitted a high and favoured official, sat near to the right hand of the + king. On the left of the queen, opposite Cornelius and surrounded by the + white traders he was to represent, sat Ieremia. Bereft of his spectacles, + he peered short-sightedly across at the Chancellor of the Exchequer. + </p> + <p> + In turn, the talking man of the windward coast, the talking man of the + leeward coast, and the talking man of the mountain villages, each backed + by his group of lesser talking men and chiefs, arose and made oration. + What they said was much the same. They grumbled about the paper money. + Affairs were not prosperous. No more copra was being smoked. The people + were suspicious. To such a pass had things come that all people wanted to + pay their debts and no one wanted to be paid. Creditors made a practice of + running away from debtors. The money was cheap. Prices were going up and + commodities were getting scarce. It cost three times the ordinary price to + buy a fowl, and then it was tough and like to die of old age if not + immediately sold. The outlook was gloomy. There were signs and omens. + There was a plague of rats in some districts. The crops were bad. The + custard apples were small. The best-bearing avocado on the windward coast + had mysteriously shed all its leaves. The taste had gone from the mangoes. + The plantains were eaten by a worm. The fish had forsaken the ocean and + vast numbers of tiger-sharks appeared. The wild goats had fled to + inaccessible summits. The poi in the poi-pits had turned bitter. There + were rumblings in the mountains, night-walking of spirits; a woman of + Punta-Puna had been struck speechless, and a five-legged she-goat had been + born in the village of Eiho. And that all was due to the strange money of + Fulualea was the firm conviction of the elders in the village councils + assembled. + </p> + <p> + Uiliami spoke for the army. His men were discontented and mutinous. Though + by royal decree the traders were bidden accept the money, yet did they + refuse it. He would not say, but it looked as if the strange money of + Fulualea had something to do with it. + </p> + <p> + Ieremia, as talking man of the traders, next spoke. When he arose, it was + noticeable that he stood with legs spraddled over a large grass basket. He + dwelt upon the cloth of the traders, its variety and beauty and + durability, which so exceeded the Fitu-Ivan wet-pounded tapa, fragile and + coarse. No one wore tapa any more. Yet all had worn tapa, and nothing but + tapa, before the traders came. There was the mosquito-netting, sold for a + song, that the cleverest Fitu-Ivan net-weaver could not duplicate in a + thousand years. He enlarged on the incomparable virtues of rifles, axes, + and steel fishhooks, down through needles, thread and cotton fish-lines to + white flour and kerosene oil. + </p> + <p> + He expounded at length, with firstlies and secondlies and all minor + subdivisions of argument, on organization, and order, and civilization. He + contended that the trader was the bearer of civilization, and that the + trader must be protected in his trade else he would not come. Over to the + westward were islands which would not protect the traders. What was the + result? The traders would not come, and the people were like wild animals. + They wore no clothes, no silk shirts (here he peered and blinked + significantly at the king), and they ate one another. + </p> + <p> + The queer paper of the Feathers of the Sun was not money. The traders knew + what money was, and they would not receive it. If Fitu-Iva persisted in + trying to make them receive it they would go away and never come back. And + then the Fitu-Ivans, who had forgotten how to make tapa, would run around + naked and eat one another. + </p> + <p> + Much more he said, talking a solid hour, and always coming back to what + their dire condition would be when the traders came no more. “And in that + day,” he perorated, “how will the Fitu-Ivan be known in the great world? + <i>Kai-kanak</i>* will men call him. '<i>Kiakanak! Kai-kanak!</i>” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Man-eater. +</pre> + <p> + Tui Tulifau spoke briefly. The case had been presented, he said, for the + people, the army, and the traders. It was now time for Feathers of the Sun + to present his side. It could not be denied that he had wrought wonders + with his financial system. “Many times has he explained to me the working + of his system,” Tui Tulif au concluded. “It is very simple. And now he + will explain it to you.” + </p> + <p> + It was a conspiracy of the white traders, Cornelius contended. Ieremia was + right so far as concerned the manifold blessings of white flour and + kerosene oil. Fitu-Iva did not want to become <i>kai-kanak</i>. Fitu-Iva + wanted civilization; it wanted more and more civilization. Now that was + the very point, and they must follow him closely. Paper money was an + earmark of higher civilization. That was why he, the Feathers of the Sun, + had introduced it. And that was why the traders opposed it. They did not + want to see Fitu-Iva civilized. Why did they come across the far ocean + stretches with their goods to Fitu-Iva? He, the Feathers of the Sun, would + tell them why, to their faces, in grand council assembled. In their own + countries men were too civilized to let the traders make the immense + profits that they made out of the Fitu-Ivans. If the Fitu-Ivans became + properly civilized, the trade of the traders would be gone. In that day + every Fitu-Ivan could become a trader if he pleased. + </p> + <p> + That was why the white traders fought the system of paper money, that he, + the Feathers of the Sun, had brought. Why was he called the Feathers of + the Sun? Because he was the Light-Bringer from the World Beyond the Sky. + The paper money was the light. The robbing white traders could not + flourish in the light. Therefore they fought the light. + </p> + <p> + He would prove it to the good people of Fitu-Iva, and he would prove it + out of the mouths of his enemies. It was a well-known fact that all highly + civilized countries had paper-money systems. He would ask Ieremia if this + was not so. + </p> + <p> + Ieremia did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” Cornelius went on, “he makes no answer. He cannot deny what is + true. England, France, Germany, America, all the great <i>Papalangi</i> + countries, have the paper-money system. It works. From century to century + it works. I challenge you, Ieremia, as an honest man, as one who was once + a zealous worker in the Lord's vineyard, I challenge you to deny that in + the great <i>Papalangi</i> countries the system works.” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia could not deny, and his fingers played nervously with the + fastening of the basket on his knees. + </p> + <p> + “You see, it is as I have said,” Cornelius continued. “Ieremia agrees that + it is so. Therefore, I ask you, all good people of Fitu-Iva, if a system + is good for the <i>Papalangi</i> countries, why is it not good for + Fitu-Iva?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not the same!” Ieremia cried. “The paper of the Feathers of the Sun + is different from the paper of the great countries.” + </p> + <p> + That Cornelius had been prepared for this was evident. He held up a + Fitu-Ivan note that was recognized by all. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Paper, mere paper,” was Ieremia's reply. + </p> + <p> + “And that?” + </p> + <p> + This time Cornelius held up a Bank of England note. + </p> + <p> + “It is the paper money of the English,” he explained to the Council, at + the same time extending it for Ieremia to examine. “Is it not true, + Ieremia, that it is paper money of the English?” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia nodded reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “You have said that the paper money of Fitu-Iva was paper, now how about + this of the English? What is it?.... You must answer like a true man... + All wait for your answer, Ieremia.” + </p> + <p> + “It is—it is——” the puzzled Ieremia began, then + spluttered helplessly, the fallacy beyond his penetration. + </p> + <p> + “Paper, mere paper,” Cornelius concluded for him, imitating his halting + utterance. + </p> + <p> + Conviction sat on the faces of all. The king clapped his hands admiringly + and murmured, “It is most clear, very clear.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, he himself acknowledges it.” Assured triumph was in Deasy's + voice and bearing. “He knows of no difference. There is no difference. + 'Tis the very image of money. 'Tis money itself.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Grief was whispering in Ieremia's ear, who nodded and + began to speak. + </p> + <p> + “But it is well known to all the <i>Papalangi</i> that the English + Government will pay coin money for the paper.” + </p> + <p> + Deasy's victory was now absolute. He held aloft a Fitu-Ivan note. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not so written on this paper as well?” + </p> + <p> + Again Grief whispered. + </p> + <p> + “That Fitu-Iva will pay coin money?” asked Ieremia + </p> + <p> + “It is so written.” + </p> + <p> + A third time Grief prompted. + </p> + <p> + “On demand?” asked Ieremia. + </p> + <p> + “On demand,” Cornelius assured him. + </p> + <p> + “Then I demand coin money now,” said Ieremia, drawing a small package of + notes from the pouch at his girdle. + </p> + <p> + Cornelius scanned the package with a quick, estimating eye. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he agreed. “I shall give you the coin money now. How much?” + </p> + <p> + “And we will see the system work,” the king proclaimed, partaking in his + Chancellor's triumph. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard!—He will give coin money now!” Ieremia cried in a + loud voice to the assemblage. + </p> + <p> + At the same time he plunged both hands in the basket and drew forth many + packages of Fitu-Ivan notes. It was noticed that a peculiar odour was + adrift about the council. + </p> + <p> + “I have here,” Ieremia announced, “one thousand and twenty-eight pounds + twelve shillings and sixpence. Here is a sack to put the coin money in.” + </p> + <p> + Cornelius recoiled. He had not expected such a sum, and everywhere about + the council his uneasy eyes showed him chiefs and talking men drawing out + bundles of notes. The army, its two months' pay in its hands, pressed + forward to the edge of the council, while behind it the populace, with + more money, invaded the compound. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a run on the bank you've precipitated,” he said reproachfully to + Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Here is the sack to put the coin money in,” Ieremia urged. + </p> + <p> + “It must be postponed,” Cornelius said desperately, “'Tis not in banking + hours.” + </p> + <p> + Ieremia flourished a package of money. “Nothing of banking hours is + written here. It says on demand, and I now demand.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them come to-morrow, O Tui Tulifau,” Cornelius appealed to the king. + “They shall be paid to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Tui Tulifau hesitated, but his spouse glared at him, her brawny arm + tensing as the fist doubled into a redoubtable knot, Tui Tulifau tried to + look away, but failed. He cleared his throat nervously. + </p> + <p> + “We will see the system work,” he decreed. “The people have come far.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis good money you're asking me to pay out,” Deasy muttered in a low + voice to the king. + </p> + <p> + Sepeli caught what he said, and grunted so savagely as to startle the + king, who involuntarily shrank away from her. + </p> + <p> + “Forget not the pig,” Grief whispered to Ieremia, who immediately stood + up. + </p> + <p> + With a sweeping gesture he stilled the babel of voices that was beginning + to rise. + </p> + <p> + “It was an ancient and honourable custom of Fitu-Iva,” he said, “that when + a man was proved a notorious evildoer his joints were broken with a club + and he was staked out at low water to be fed upon alive by the sharks. + Unfortunately, that day is past. Nevertheless another ancient and + honourable custom remains with us. You all know what it is. When a man is + a proven thief and liar he shall be struck with a dead pig.” + </p> + <p> + His right hand went into the basket, and, despite the lack of his + spectacles, the dead pig that came into view landed accurately on Deasy's + neck. With such force was it thrown that the Chancellor, in his sitting + position, toppled over sidewise. Before he could recover, Sepeli, with an + agility unexpected of a woman who weighed two hundred and sixty pounds, + had sprung across to him. One hand clutched his shirt collar, the other + hand brandished the pig, and amid the vast uproar of a delighted kingdom + she royally swatted him. + </p> + <p> + There remained nothing for Tui Tulifau but to put a good face on his + favourite's disgrace, and his mountainous fat lay back on the mats and + shook in a gale of Gargantuan laughter. + </p> + <p> + When Sepeli dropped both pig and Chancellor, a talking man from the + windward coast picked up the carcass. Cornelius was on his feet and + running, when the pig caught him on the legs and tripped him. The people + and the army, with shouts and laughter, joined in the sport. + </p> + <p> + Twist and dodge as he would, everywhere the ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer + was met or overtaken by the flying pig. He scuttled like a frightened + rabbit in and out among the avocados and the palms. No hand was laid upon + him, and his tormentors made way before him, but ever they pursued, and + ever the pig flew as fast as hands could pick it up. + </p> + <p> + As the chase died away down the Broom Road, Grief led the traders to the + royal treasury, and the day was well over ere the last Fitu-Ivan bank note + had been redeemed with coin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Through the mellow cool of twilight a man paddled out from a clump of + jungle to the <i>Cantani</i>. It was a leaky and abandoned dugout, and he + paddled slowly, desisting from time to time in order to bale. The Kanaka + sailors giggled gleefully as he came alongside and painfully drew himself + over the rail. He was bedraggled and filthy, and seemed half-dazed. + </p> + <p> + “Could I speak a word with you, Mr. Grief?” he asked sadly and humbly. + </p> + <p> + “Sit to leeward and farther away,” Grief answered. “A little farther away. + That's better.” + </p> + <p> + Cornelius sat down on the rail and held his head in both his hands. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis right,” he said. “I'm as fragrant as a recent battlefield. My head + aches to burstin'. My neck is fair broken. The teeth are loose in my jaws. + There's nests of hornets buzzin' in my ears. My medulla oblongata is + dislocated. I've been through earthquake and pestilence, and the heavens + have rained pigs.” He paused with a sigh that ended in a groan. “'Tis a + vision of terrible death. One that the poets never dreamed. To be eaten by + rats, or boiled in oil, or pulled apart by wild horses—that would be + unpleasant. But to be beaten to death with a dead pig!” He shuddered at + the awfulness of it. “Sure it transcends the human imagination.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Boig sniffed audibly, moved his canvas chair farther to windward, + and sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “I hear you're runnin' over to Yap, Mr. Grief,” Cornelius went on. “An' + two things I'm wantin' to beg of you: a passage an' the nip of the old + smoky I refused the night you landed.” + </p> + <p> + Grief clapped his hands for the black steward and ordered soap and towels. + </p> + <p> + “Go for'ard, Cornelius, and take a scrub first,” he said. “The boy will + bring you a pair of dungarees and a shirt. And by the way, before you go, + how was it we found more coin in the treasury than paper you had issued?” + </p> + <p> + “'Twas the stake of my own I'd brought with me for the adventure.” + </p> + <p> + “We've decided to charge the demurrage and other expenses and loss to Tui + Tulifau,” Grief said. “So the balance we found will be turned over to you. + But ten shillings must be deducted.” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think dead pigs grow on trees? The sum of ten shillings for that + pig is entered in the accounts.” + </p> + <p> + Cornelius bowed his assent with a shudder. + </p> + <p> + “Sure it's grateful I am it wasn't a fifteen-shilling pig or a + twenty-shilling one.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Eight—THE PEARLS OF PARLAY + </h2> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + The Kanaka helmsman put the wheel down, and the <i>Malahini</i> slipped + into the eye of the wind and righted to an even keel. Her head-sails + emptied, there was a rat-tat of reef-points and quick shifting of + boom-tackles, and she was heeled over and filled away on the other tack. + Though it was early morning and the wind brisk, the five white men who + lounged on the poop-deck were scantily clad. David Grief, and his guest, + Gregory Mulhall, an Englishman, were still in pajamas, their naked feet + thrust into Chinese slippers. The captain and mate were in thin + undershirts and unstarched duck pants, while the supercargo still held in + his hands the undershirt he was reluctant to put on. The sweat stood out + on his forehead, and he seemed to thrust his bare chest thirstily into the + wind that did not cool. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty muggy, for a breeze like this,” he complained. + </p> + <p> + “And what's it doing around in the west? That's what I want to know,” was + Grief's contribution to the general plaint. + </p> + <p> + “It won't last, and it ain't been there long,” said Hermann, the Holland + mate. “She is been chop around all night—five minutes here, ten + minutes there, one hour somewhere other quarter.” + </p> + <p> + “Something makin ', something makin ',” Captain Warfield croaked, + spreading his bushy beard with the fingers of both hands and shoving the + thatch of his chin into the breeze in a vain search for coolness. + “Weather's been crazy for a fortnight. Haven't had the proper trades in + three weeks. Everything's mixed up. Barometer was pumping at sunset last + night, and it's pumping now, though the weather sharps say it don't mean + anything. All the same, I've got a prejudice against seeing it pump. Gets + on my nerves, sort of, you know. She was pumping that way the time we lost + the <i>Lancaster</i>. I was only an apprentice, but I can remember that + well enough. Brand new, four-masted steel ship; first voyage; broke the + old man's heart. He'd been forty years in the company. Just faded way and + died the next year.” + </p> + <p> + Despite the wind and the early hour, the heat was suffocating. The wind + whispered coolness, but did not deliver coolness. It might have blown off + the Sahara, save for the extreme humidity with which it was laden. There + was no fog nor mist, nor hint of fog or mist, yet the dimness of distance + produced the impression. There were no defined clouds, yet so thickly were + the heavens covered by a messy cloud-pall that the sun failed to shine + through. + </p> + <p> + “Ready about!” Captain Warfield ordered with slow sharpness. + </p> + <p> + The brown, breech-clouted Kanaka sailors moved languidly but quickly to + head-sheets and boom-tackles. + </p> + <p> + “Hard a-lee!” + </p> + <p> + The helmsman ran the spokes over with no hint of gentling, and the <i>Malahini</i> + darted prettily into the wind and about. + </p> + <p> + “Jove! she's a witch!” was Mulhall's appreciation. “I didn't know you + South Sea traders sailed yachts.” + </p> + <p> + “She was a Gloucester fisherman originally,” Grief explained, “and the + Gloucester boats are all yachts when it comes to build, rig, and sailing.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're heading right in—why don't you make it?” came the + Englishman's criticism. + </p> + <p> + “Try it, Captain Warfield,” Grief suggested. “Show him what a lagoon + entrance is on a strong ebb.” + </p> + <p> + “Close-and-by!” the captain ordered. + </p> + <p> + “Close-and-by,” the Kanaka repeated, easing half a spoke. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Malahini</i> laid squarely into the narrow passage which was the + lagoon entrance <i>of</i> a large, long, and narrow oval of an atoll. The + atoll was shaped as if three atolls, in the course of building, had + collided and coalesced and failed to rear the partition walls. Cocoanut + palms grew in spots on the circle of sand, and there were many gaps where + the sand was too low to the sea for cocoanuts, and through which could be + seen the protected lagoon where the water lay flat like the ruffled + surface of a mirror. Many square miles of water were in the irregular + lagoon, all of which surged out on the ebb through the one narrow channel. + So narrow was the channel, so large the outflow of water, that the passage + was more like the rapids of a river than the mere tidal entrance to an + atoll. The water boiled and whirled and swirled and drove outward in a + white foam of stiff, serrated waves. Each heave and blow on her bows of + the upstanding waves of the current swung the Malahini off the straight + lead and wedged her as with wedges of steel toward the side of the + passage. Part way in she was, when her closeness to the coral edge + compelled her to go about. On the opposite tack, broadside to the current, + she swept seaward with the current's speed. + </p> + <p> + “Now's the time for that new and expensive engine of yours,” Grief jeered + good-naturedly. + </p> + <p> + That the engine was a sore point with Captain Warfield was patent. He had + begged and badgered for it, until in the end Grief had given his consent. + </p> + <p> + “It will pay for itself yet,” the captain retorted, “You wait and see. It + beats insurance and you know the underwriters won't stand for insurance in + the Paumotus.” + </p> + <p> + Grief pointed to a small cutter beating up astern of them on the same + course. + </p> + <p> + “I'll wager a five-franc piece the little Nuhiva beats us in.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” Captain Warfield agreed. “She's overpowered. We're like a liner + alongside of her, and we've only got forty horsepower. She's got ten + horse, and she's a little skimming dish. She could skate across the froth + of hell, but just the same she can't buck this current. It's running ten + knots right now.” + </p> + <p> + And at the rate of ten knots, buffeted and jerkily rolled, the <i>Malahini</i> + went out to sea with the tide. + </p> + <p> + “She'll slacken in half an hour—then we'll make headway,” Captain + Warfield said, with an irritation explained by his next words. “He has no + right to call it Parlay. It's down on the admiralty charts, and the French + charts, too, as Hikihoho. Bougainville discovered it and named it from the + natives.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the name matter?” the supercargo demanded, taking advantage of + speech to pause with arms shoved into the sleeves of the undershirt. + “There it is, right under our nose, and old Parlay is there with the + pearls.” + </p> + <p> + “Who see them pearl?” Hermann queried, looking from one to another. + </p> + <p> + “It's well known,” was the supercargo's reply. He turned to the steersman: + “Tai-Hotauri, what about old Parlay's pearls?” + </p> + <p> + The Kanaka, pleased and self-conscious, took and gave a spoke. + </p> + <p> + “My brother dive for Parlay three, four month, and he make much talk about + pearl. Hikihoho very good place for pearl.” + </p> + <p> + “And the pearl-buyers have never got him to part with a pearl,” the + captain broke in. + </p> + <p> + “And they say he had a hatful for Armande when he sailed for Tahiti,” the + supercargo carried on the tale. “That's fifteen years ago, and he's been + adding to it ever since—stored the shell as well. Everybody's seen + that—hundreds of tons of it. They say the lagoon's fished clean now. + Maybe that's why he's announced the auction.” + </p> + <p> + “If he really sells, this will be the biggest year's output of pearls in + the Paumotus,” Grief said. + </p> + <p> + “I say, now, look here!” Mulhall burst forth, harried by the humid heat as + much as the rest of them. “What's it all about? Who's the old beachcomber + anyway? What are all these pearls? Why so secretious about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Hikihoho belongs to old Parlay,” the supercargo answered. “He's got a + fortune in pearls, saved up for years and years, and he sent the word out + weeks ago that he'd auction them off to the buyers to-morrow. See those + schooners' masts sticking up inside the lagoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Eight, so I see,” said Hermann. + </p> + <p> + “What are they doing in a dinky atoll like this?” the supercargo went on. + “There isn't a schooner-load of copra a year in the place. They've come + for the auction. That's why we're here. That's why the little <i>Nuhiva's</i> + bumping along astern there, though what she can buy is beyond me. Narii + Herring—he's an English Jew half-caste—owns and runs her, and + his only assets are his nerve, his debts, and his whiskey bills. He's a + genius in such things. He owes so much that there isn't a merchant in + Papeete who isn't interested in his welfare. They go out of their way to + throw work in his way. They've got to, and a dandy stunt it is for Narii. + Now I owe nobody. What's the result? If I fell down in a fit on the beach + they'd let me lie there and die. They wouldn't lose anything. But Narii + Herring?—what wouldn't they do if he fell in a fit? Their best + wouldn't be too good for him. They've got too much money tied up in him to + let him lie. They'd take him into their homes and hand-nurse him like a + brother. Let me tell you, honesty in paying bills ain't what it's cracked + up to be.” + </p> + <p> + “What's this Narii chap got to do with it?” was the Englishman's + short-tempered demand. And, turning to Grief, he said, “What's all this + pearl nonsense? Begin at the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to help me out,” Grief warned the others, as he began. “Old + Parlay is a character. From what I've seen of him I believe he's partly + and mildly insane. Anyway, here's the story: Parlay's a full-blooded + Frenchman. He told me once that he came from Paris. His accent is the true + Parisian. He arrived down here in the old days. Went to trading and all + the rest. That's how he got in on Hikihoho. Came in trading when trading + was the real thing. About a hundred miserable Paumotans lived on the + island. He married the queen—native fashion. When she died, + everything was his. Measles came through, and there weren't more than a + dozen survivors. He fed them, and worked them, and was king. Now before + the queen died she gave birth to a girl. That's Armande. When she was + three he sent her to the convent at Papeete. When she was seven or eight + he sent her to France. You begin to glimpse the situation. The best and + most aristocratic convent in France was none too good for the only + daughter of a Paumotan island king and capitalist, and you know the old + country French draw no colour line. She was educated like a princess, and + she accepted herself in much the same way. Also, she thought she was + all-white, and never dreamed of a bar sinister. + </p> + <p> + “Now comes the tragedy. The old man had always been cranky and erratic, + and he'd played the despot on Hikihoho so long that he'd got the idea in + his head that there was nothing wrong with the king—or the princess + either. When Armande was eighteen he sent for her. He had slews and + slathers of money, as Yankee Bill would say. He'd built the big house on + Hikihoho, and a whacking fine bungalow in Papeete. She was to arrive on + the mail boat from New Zealand, and he sailed in his schooner to meet her + at Papeete. And he might have carried the situation off, despite the hens + and bull-beasts of Papeete, if it hadn't been for the hurricane. That was + the year, wasn't it, when Manu-Huhi was swept and eleven hundred drowned?” + </p> + <p> + The others nodded, and Captain Warfield said: “I was in the <i>Magpie</i> + that blow, and we went ashore, all hands and the cook, <i>Magpie</i> and + all, a quarter of a mile into the cocoanuts at the head of Taiohae Bay—and + it a supposedly hurricane-proof harbour.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Grief continued, “old Parlay got caught in the same blow, and + arrived in Papeete with his hatful of pearls three weeks too late. He'd + had to jack up his schooner and build half a mile of ways before he could + get her back into the sea. + </p> + <p> + “And in the meantime there was Armande at Papeete. Nobody called on her. + She did, French fashion, make the initial calls on the Governor and the + port doctor. They saw her, but neither of their hen-wives was at home to + her nor returned the call. She was out of caste, without caste, though she + had never dreamed it, and that was the gentle way they broke the + information to her. There was a gay young lieutenant on the French + cruiser. He lost his heart to her, but not his head. You can imagine the + shock to this young woman, refined, beautiful, raised like an aristocrat, + pampered with the best of old France that money could buy. And you can + guess the end.” He shrugged his shoulders. “There was a Japanese servant + in the bungalow. He saw it. Said she did it with the proper spirit of the + Samurai. Took a stiletto—no thrust, no drive, no wild rush for + annihilation—took the stiletto, placed the point carefully against + her heart, and with both hands, slowly and steadily, pressed home. + </p> + <p> + “Old Parlay arrived after that with his pearls. There was one single one + of them, they say, worth sixty thousand francs. Peter Gee saw it, and has + told me he offered that much for it. The old man went clean off for a + while. They had him strait-jacketed in the Colonial Club two days——” + </p> + <p> + “His wife's uncle, an old Paumotan, cut him out of the jacket and turned + him loose,” the supercargo corroborated. + </p> + <p> + “And then old Parlay proceeded to eat things up,” Grief went on. “Pumped + three bullets into the scalawag of a lieutenant——” + </p> + <p> + “Who lay in sick bay for three months,” Captain Warfield contributed. + </p> + <p> + “Flung a glass of wine in the Governor's face; fought a duel with the port + doctor; beat up his native servants; wrecked the hospital; broke two ribs + and the collarbone of a man nurse, and escaped; and went down to his + schooner, a gun in each hand, daring the chief of police and all the + gendarmes to arrest him, and sailed for Hikihoho. And they say he's never + left the island since.” + </p> + <p> + The supercargo nodded. “That was fifteen years ago, and he's never + budged.” + </p> + <p> + “And added to his pearls,” said the captain. “He's a blithering old + lunatic. Makes my flesh creep. He's a regular Finn.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” Mulhall inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Bosses the weather—that's what the natives believe, at any rate. + Ask Tai-Hotauri there. Hey, Tai-Hotauri! what you think old Parlay do + along weather?” + </p> + <p> + “Just the same one big weather devil,” came the Kanaka's answer. “I know. + He want big blow, he make big blow. He want no wind, no wind come.” + </p> + <p> + “A regular old Warlock,” said Mulhall. + </p> + <p> + “No good luck them pearl,” Tai-Hotauri blurted out, rolling his head + ominously. “He say he sell. Plenty schooner come. Then he make big + hurricane, everybody finish, you see. All native men say so.” + </p> + <p> + “It's hurricane season now,” Captain War-field laughed morosely. “They're + not far wrong. It's making for something right now, and I'd feel better if + the <i>Malahini</i> was a thousand miles away from here.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a bit mad,” Grief concluded. “I've tried to get his point of view. + It's—well, it's mixed. For eighteen years he'd centred everything on + Armande. Half the time he believes she's still alive, not yet come back + from France. That's one of the reasons he held on to the pearls. And all + the time he hates white men. He never forgets they killed her, though a + great deal of the time he forgets she's dead. Hello! Where's your wind?” + </p> + <p> + The sails bellied emptily overhead, and Captain Warfield grunted his + disgust. Intolerable as the heat had been, in the absence of wind it was + almost overpowering. The sweat oozed out on all their faces, and now one, + and again another, drew deep breaths, involuntarily questing for more air. + </p> + <p> + “Here she comes again—an eight point haul! Boom-tackles across! + Jump!” + </p> + <p> + The Kanakas sprang to the captain's orders, and for five minutes the + schooner laid directly into the passage and even gained on the current. + Again the breeze fell flat, then puffed from the old quarter, compelling a + shift back of sheets and tackles. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes the <i>Nuhiva</i>” Grief said. “She's got her engine on. Look + at her skim.” + </p> + <p> + “All ready?” the captain asked the engineer, a Portuguese half-caste, + whose head and shoulders protruded from the small hatch just for'ard of + the cabin, and who wiped the sweat from his face with a bunch of greasy + waste. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Then let her go.” + </p> + <p> + The engineer disappeared into his den, and a moment later the exhaust + muffler coughed and spluttered overside. But the schooner could not hold + her lead. The little cutter made three feet to her two and was quickly + alongside and forging ahead. Only natives were on her deck, and the man + steering waved his hand in derisive greeting and farewell. + </p> + <p> + “That's Narii Herring,” Grief told Mulhall. “The big fellow at the wheel—the + nerviest and most conscienceless scoundrel in the Paumotus.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later a cry of joy from their own Kanakas centred all eyes on + the <i>Nuhiva</i>. Her engine had broken down and they were overtaking + her. The <i>Malahini's</i> sailors sprang into the rigging and jeered as + they went by; the little cutter heeled over by the wind with a bone in her + teeth, going backward on the tide. + </p> + <p> + “Some engine that of ours,” Grief approved, as the lagoon opened before + them and the course was changed across it to the anchorage. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield was visibly cheered, though he merely grunted, “It'll pay + for itself, never fear.” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Malahini</i> ran well into the centre of the little fleet ere she + found swinging room to anchor. + </p> + <p> + “There's Isaacs on the <i>Dolly</i>,” Grief observed, with a hand wave of + greeting. “And Peter Gee's on the <i>Roberta</i>. Couldn't keep him away + from a pearl sale like this. And there's Francini on the <i>Cactus</i>. + They're all here, all the buyers. Old Parlay will surely get a price.” + </p> + <p> + “They haven't repaired the engine yet,” Captain Warfield grumbled + gleefully. + </p> + <p> + He was looking across the lagoon to where the <i>Nuhiva's</i> sails showed + through the sparse cocoa-nuts. + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + The house of Parlay was a big two-story frame affair, built of California + lumber, with a galvanized iron roof. So disproportionate was it to the + slender ring of the atoll that it showed out upon the sand-strip and above + it like some monstrous excrescence. They of the <i>Malahini</i> paid the + courtesy visit ashore immediately after anchoring. Other captains and + buyers were in the big room examining the pearls that were to be auctioned + next day. Paumotan servants, natives of Hikihoho, and relatives of the + owner, moved about dispensing whiskey and absinthe. And through the + curious company moved Parlay himself, cackling and sneering, the withered + wreck of what had once been a tall and powerful man. His eyes were deep + sunken and feverish, his cheeks fallen in and cavernous. The hair of his + head seemed to have come out in patches, and his mustache and imperial had + shed in the same lopsided way. + </p> + <p> + “Jove!” Mulhall muttered under his breath. “A long-legged Napoleon the + Third, but burnt out, baked, and fire-crackled. And mangy! No wonder he + crooks his head to one side. He's got to keep the balance.” + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to have a blow,” was the old man's greeting to Grief. “You must + think a lot of pearls to come a day like this.” + </p> + <p> + “They're worth going to inferno for,” Grief laughed genially back, running + his eyes over the surface of the table covered by the display. + </p> + <p> + “Other men have already made that journey for them,” old Parlay cackled. + “See this one!” He pointed to a large, perfect pearl the size of a small + walnut that lay apart on a piece of chamois. “They offered me sixty + thousand francs for it in Tahiti. They'll bid as much and more for it + to-morrow, if they aren't blown away. Well, that pearl, it was found by my + cousin, my cousin by marriage. He was a native, you see. Also, he was a + thief. He hid it. It was mine. His cousin, who was also my cousin—we're + all related here—killed him for it and fled away in a cutter to + Noo-Nau. I pursued, but the chief of Noo-Nau had killed him for it before + I got there. Oh, yes, there are many dead men represented on the table + there. Have a drink, Captain. Your face is not familiar. You are new in + the islands?” + </p> + <p> + “It's Captain Robinson of the <i>Roberta</i>,” Grief said, introducing + them. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Mulhall had shaken hands with Peter Gee. + </p> + <p> + “I never fancied there were so many pearls in the world,” Mulhall said. + </p> + <p> + “Nor have I ever seen so many together at one time,” Peter Gee admitted. + </p> + <p> + “What ought they to be worth?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty or sixty thousand pounds—and that's to us buyers. In Paris——” + He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his eyebrows at the + incommunicableness of the sum. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall wiped the sweat from his eyes. All were sweating profusely and + breathing hard. There was no ice in the drink that was served, and whiskey + and absinthe went down lukewarm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” Parlay was cackling. “Many dead men lie on the table there. I + know those pearls, all of them. You see those three! Perfectly matched, + aren't they? A diver from Easter Island got them for me inside a week. + Next week a shark got him; took his arm off and blood poison did the + business. And that big baroque there—nothing much—if I'm + offered twenty francs for it to-morrow I'll be in luck; it came out of + twenty-two fathoms of water. The man was from Raratonga. He broke all + diving records. He got it out of twenty-two fathoms. I saw him. And he + burst his lungs at the same time, or got the 'bends,' for he died in two + hours. He died screaming. They could hear him for miles. He was the most + powerful native I ever saw. Half a dozen of my divers have died of the + bends. And more men will die, more men will die.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hush your croaking, Parlay,” chided one of the captains. “It ain't + going to blow.” + </p> + <p> + “If I was a strong man, I couldn't get up hook and get out fast enough,” + the old man retorted in the falsetto of age. “Not if I was a strong man + with the taste for wine yet in my mouth. But not you. You'll all stay, I + wouldn't advise you if I thought you'd go, You can't drive buzzards away + from the carrion. Have another drink, my brave sailor-men. Well, well, + what men will dare for a few little oyster drops! There they are, the + beauties! Auction to-morrow, at ten sharp. Old Parlay's selling out, and + the buzzards are gathering—old Parlay who was a stronger man in his + day than any of them and who will see most of them dead yet.” + </p> + <p> + “If he isn't a vile old beast!” the supercargo of the <i>Malahini</i> + whispered to Peter Gee. + </p> + <p> + “What if she does blow?” said the captain of the <i>Dolly</i>. “Hikihoho's + never been swept.” + </p> + <p> + “The more reason she will be, then,” Captain Warfield answered back. “I + wouldn't trust her.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's croaking now?” Grief reproved. + </p> + <p> + “I'd hate to lose that new engine before it paid for itself,” Captain + Warfield replied gloomily. + </p> + <p> + Parlay skipped with astonishing nimbleness across the crowded room to the + barometer on the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Take a look, my brave sailormen!” he cried exultantly. + </p> + <p> + The man nearest read the glass. The sobering effect showed plainly on his + face. + </p> + <p> + “It's dropped ten,” was all he said, yet every face went anxious, and + there was a look as if every man desired immediately to start for the + door. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” Parlay commanded. + </p> + <p> + In the silence the outer surf seemed to have become unusually loud. There + was a great rumbling roar. + </p> + <p> + “A big sea is beginning to set,” some one said; and there was a movement + to the windows, where all gathered. + </p> + <p> + Through the sparse cocoanuts they gazed seaward. An orderly succession of + huge smooth seas was rolling down upon the coral shore. For some minutes + they gazed on the strange sight and talked in low voices, and in those few + minutes it was manifest to all that the waves were increasing in size. It + was uncanny, this rising sea in a dead calm, and their voices + unconsciously sank lower. Old Parlay shocked them with his abrupt cackle. + </p> + <p> + “There is yet time to get away to sea, brave gentlemen. You can tow across + the lagoon with your whaleboats.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, old man,” said Darling, the mate of the <i>Cactus</i>, a + stalwart youngster of twenty-five. “The blow's to the southward and + passing on. We'll not get a whiff of it.” + </p> + <p> + An air of relief went through the room. Conversations were started, and + the voices became louder. Several of the buyers even went back to the + table to continue the examination of the pearls. + </p> + <p> + Parlay's shrill cackle rose higher. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” he encouraged. “If the world was coming to an end you'd go + on buying.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll buy these to-morrow just the same,” Isaacs assured him. + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll be doing your buying in hell.” + </p> + <p> + The chorus of incredulous laughter incensed the old man. He turned + fiercely on Darling. + </p> + <p> + “Since when have children like you come to the knowledge of storms? And + who is the man who has plotted the hurricane-courses of the Paumotus? What + books will you find it in? I sailed the Paumotus before the oldest of you + drew breath. I know. To the eastward the paths of the hurricanes are on so + wide a circle they make a straight line. To the westward here they make a + sharp curve. Remember your chart. How did it happen the hurricane of '91 + swept Auri and Hiolau? The curve, my brave boy, the curve! In an hour, or + two or three at most, will come the wind. Listen to that!” + </p> + <p> + A vast rumbling crash shook the coral foundations of the atoll. The house + quivered to it. The native servants, with bottles of whiskey and absinthe + in their hands, shrank together as if for protection and stared with fear + through the windows at the mighty wash of the wave lapping far up the + beach to the corner of a copra-shed. + </p> + <p> + Parlay looked at the barometer, giggled, and leered around at his guests. + Captain War-field strode across to see. + </p> + <p> + “29:75,” he read. “She's gone down five more. By God! the old devil's + right. She's a-coming, and it's me, for one, for aboard.” + </p> + <p> + “It's growing dark,” Isaacs half whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Jove! it's like a stage,” Mulhall said to Grief, looking at his watch. + “Ten o'clock in the morning, and it's like twilight. Down go the lights + for the tragedy. Where's the slow music!” + </p> + <p> + In answer, another rumbling crash shook the atoll and the house. Almost in + a panic the company started for the door. In the dim light their sweaty + faces appeared ghastly. Isaacs panted asthmatically in the suffocating + heat. + </p> + <p> + “What's your haste?” Parlay chuckled and girded at his departing guests. + “A last drink, brave gentlemen.” No one noticed him. As they took the + shell-bordered path to the beach he stuck his head out the door and + called, “Don't forget, gentlemen, at ten to-morrow old Parlay sells his + pearls.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + On the beach a curious scene took place. Whaleboat after whaleboat was + being hurriedly manned and shoved off. It had grown still darker. The + stagnant calm continued, and the sand shook under their feet with each + buffet of the sea on the outer shore. Narii Herring walked leisurely along + the sand. He grinned at the very evident haste of the captains and buyers. + With him were three of his Kanakas, and also Tai-Hotauri. + </p> + <p> + “Get into the boat and take an oar,” Captain Warfield ordered the latter. + </p> + <p> + Tai-Hotauri came over jauntily, while Narii Herring and his three Kanakas + paused and looked on from forty feet away. + </p> + <p> + “I work no more for you, skipper,” Tai-Hotauri said insolently and loudly. + But his face belied his words, for he was guilty of a prodigious wink. + “Fire me, skipper,” he huskily whispered, with a second significant wink. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield took the cue and proceeded to do some acting himself. He + raised his fist and his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Get into that boat,” he thundered, “or I'll knock seven bells out of + you!” + </p> + <p> + The Kanaka drew back truculently, and Grief stepped between to placate his + captain. + </p> + <p> + “I go to work on the <i>Nuhiva</i>,” Tai-Hotauri said, rejoining the other + group. + </p> + <p> + “Come back here!” the captain threatened. + </p> + <p> + “He's a free man, skipper,” Narii Herring spoke up. “He's sailed with me + in the past, and he's sailing again, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, we must get on board,” Grief urged. “Look how dark it's + getting.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield gave in, but as the boat shoved off he stood up in the + sternsheets and shook his fist ashore. + </p> + <p> + “I'll settle with you yet, Narii,” he cried. “You're the only skipper in + the group that steals other men's sailors,” He sat down, and in lowered + voice queried: “Now what's Tai-Hotauri up to? He's on to something, but + what is it?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + As the boat came alongside the <i>Malahini</i>, Hermann's anxious face + greeted them over the rail. + </p> + <p> + “Bottom out fall from barometer,” he announced. “She's goin' to blow. I + got starboard anchor overhaul.” + </p> + <p> + “Overhaul the big one, too,” Captain Warfield ordered, taking charge. “And + here, some of you, hoist in this boat. Lower her down to the deck and lash + her bottom up.” + </p> + <p> + Men were busy at work on the decks of all the schooners. There was a great + clanking of chains being overhauled, and now one craft, and now another, + hove in, veered, and dropped a second anchor. Like the <i>Malahini</i>, + those that had third anchors were preparing to drop them when the wind + showed what quarter it was to blow from. + </p> + <p> + The roar of the big surf continually grew though the lagoon lay in the + mirror-like calm. + </p> + <p> + There was no sign of life where Parlay's big house perched on the sand. + Boat and copra-sheds and the sheds where the shell was stored were + deserted. + </p> + <p> + “For two cents I'd up anchors and get out,” Grief said. “I'd do it anyway + if it were open sea. But those chains of atolls to the north and east have + us pocketed. We've a better chance right here. What do you think, Captain + Warfield?” + </p> + <p> + “I agree with you, though a lagoon is no mill-pond for riding it out. I + wonder where she's going to start from? Hello! There goes one of Parlay's + copra-sheds.” + </p> + <p> + They could see the grass-thatched shed lift and collapse, while a froth of + foam cleared the crest of the sand and ran down to the lagoon. + </p> + <p> + “Breached across!” Mulhall exclaimed. “That's something for a starter. + There she comes again!” + </p> + <p> + The wreck of the shed was now flung up and left on the sand-crest, A third + wave buffeted it into fragments which washed down the slope toward the + lagoon. + </p> + <p> + “If she blow I would as be cooler yet,” Hermann grunted. “No longer can I + breathe. It is damn hot. I am dry like a stove.” + </p> + <p> + He chopped open a drinking cocoanut with his heavy sheath-knife and + drained the contents. The rest of them followed his example, pausing once + to watch one of Parlay's shell sheds go down in ruin. The barometer now + registered 29:50. + </p> + <p> + “Must be pretty close to the centre of the area of low pressure,” Grief + remarked cheerfully. “I was never through the eye of a hurricane before. + It will be an experience for you, too, Mulhall. From the speed the + barometer's dropped, it's going to be a big one.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield groaned, and all eyes drew to him. He was looking through + the glasses down the length of the lagoon to the southeast. + </p> + <p> + “There she comes,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + They did not need glasses to see. A flying film, strangely marked, seemed + drawing over the surface of the lagoon. Abreast of it, along the atoll, + travelling with equal speed, was a stiff bending of the cocoanut palms and + a blur of flying leaves. The front of the wind on the water was a solid, + sharply defined strip of dark-coloured, wind-vexed water. In advance of + this strip, like skirmishers, were flashes of windflaws. Behind this + strip, a quarter of a mile in width, was a strip of what seemed glassy + calm. Next came another dark strip of wind, and behind that the lagoon was + all crisping, boiling whiteness. + </p> + <p> + “What is that calm streak?” Mulhall asked. + </p> + <p> + “Calm,” Warfield answered. + </p> + <p> + “But it travels as fast as the wind,” was the other's objection. + </p> + <p> + “It has to, or it would be overtaken and it wouldn't be any calm. It's a + double-header, I saw a big squall like that off Savaii once. A regular + double-header. Smash! it hit us, then it lulled to nothing, and smashed us + a second time. Stand by and hold on! Here she is on top of us. Look at the + <i>Roberta!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The Roberta, lying nearest to the wind at slack chains, was swept off + broadside like a straw. Then her chains brought her up, bow on to the + wind, with an astonishing jerk. Schooner after schooner, the <i>Malahini</i> + with them, was now sweeping away with the first gust and fetching up on + taut chains. Mulhall and several of the Kanakas were taken off their feet + when the <i>Malahini</i> jerked to her anchors. + </p> + <p> + And then there was no wind. The flying calm streak had reached them. Grief + lighted a match, and the unshielded flame burned without flickering in the + still air. A very dim twilight prevailed. The cloud-sky, lowering as it + had been for hours, seemed now to have descended quite down upon the sea. + </p> + <p> + The Roberta tightened to her chains when the second head of the hurricane + hit, as did schooner after schooner in swift succession. The sea, white + with fury, boiled in tiny, spitting wavelets. The deck of the <i>Malahini</i> + vibrated under the men's feet. The taut-stretched halyards beat a tattoo + against the masts, and all the rigging, as if smote by some mighty hand, + set up a wild thrumming. It was impossible to face the wind and breathe. + Mulhall, crouching with the others behind the shelter of the cabin, + discovered this, and his lungs were filled in an instant with so great a + volume of driven air which he could not expel that he nearly strangled ere + he could turn his head away. + </p> + <p> + “It's incredible,” he gasped, but no one heard him. + </p> + <p> + Hermann and several Kanakas were crawling for'ard on hands and knees to + let go the third anchor. Grief touched Captain Warfield and pointed to the + <i>Roberta</i>. She was dragging down upon them. Warfield put his mouth to + Grief's ear and shouted: + </p> + <p> + “We're dragging, too!” + </p> + <p> + Grief sprang to the wheel and put it hard over, veering the <i>Mahhini</i> + to port. The third anchor took hold, and the <i>Roberta</i> went by, + stern-first, a dozen yards away. They waved their hands to Peter Gee and + Captain Robinson, who, with a number of sailors, were at work on the bow. + </p> + <p> + “He's knocking out the shackles!” Grief shouted. “Going to chance the + passage! Got to! Anchors skating!” + </p> + <p> + “We're holding now!” came the answering shout. “There goes the <i>Cactus</i> + down on the <i>Misi</i>. That settles them!” + </p> + <p> + The <i>Misi</i> had been holding, but the added windage of the <i>Cactus</i> + was too much, and the entangled schooners slid away across the boiling + white. Their men could be seen chopping and fighting to get them apart. + The <i>Roberta</i>, cleared of her anchors, with a patch of tarpaulin set + for'ard, was heading for the passage at the northwestern end of the + lagoon. They saw her make it and drive out to sea. But the <i>Misi</i> and + <i>Cactus</i>, unable to get clear of each other, went ashore on the atoll + half a mile from the passage. The wind merely increased on itself and + continued to increase. To face the full blast of it required all one's + strength, and several minutes of crawling on deck against it tired a man + to exhaustion. Hermann, with his Kanakas, plodded steadily, lashing and + making secure, putting ever more gaskets on the sails. The wind ripped and + tore their thin undershirts from their backs. They moved slowly, as if + their bodies weighed tons, never releasing a hand-hold until another had + been secured. Loose ends of rope stood out stiffly horizontal, and, when a + whipping gave, the loose end frazzled and blew away. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall touched one and then another and pointed to the shore. The + grass-sheds had disappeared, and Parlay's house rocked drunkenly, Because + the wind blew lengthwise along the atoll, the house had been sheltered by + the miles of cocoanut trees. But the big seas, breaking across from + outside, were undermining it and hammering it to pieces. Already tilted + down the slope of sand, its end was imminent. Here and there in the + cocoanut trees people had lashed themselves. The trees did not sway or + thresh about. Bent over rigidly from the wind, they remained in that + position and vibrated monstrously. Underneath, across the sand, surged the + white spume of the breakers. A big sea was likewise making down the length + of the lagoon. It had plenty of room to kick up in the ten-mile stretch + from the windward rim of the atoll, and all the schooners were bucking and + plunging into it. The <i>Malahini</i> had begun shoving her bow and + fo'c'sle head under the bigger ones, and at times her waist was filled + rail-high with water. + </p> + <p> + “Now's the time for your engine!” Grief bellowed; and Captain Warfield, + crawling over to where the engineer lay, shouted emphatic commands. + </p> + <p> + Under the engine, going full speed ahead, the <i>Malahini</i> behaved + better. While she continued to ship seas over her bow, she was not jerked + down so fiercely by her anchors. On the other hand, she was unable to get + any slack in the chains. The best her forty horsepower could do was to + ease the strain. + </p> + <p> + Still the wind increased. The little <i>Nuhiva</i>, lying abreast of the + <i>Malahini</i> and closer in to the beach, her engine still unrepaired + and her captain ashore, was having a bad time of it. She buried herself so + frequently and so deeply that they wondered each time if she could clear + herself of the water. At three in the afternoon buried by a second sea + before she could free herself of the preceding one, she did not come up. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall looked at Grief. + </p> + <p> + “Burst in her hatches,” was the bellowed answer. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield pointed to the <i>Winifred</i>, a little schooner + plunging and burying outside of them, and shouted in Grief's ear. His + voice came in patches of dim words, with intervals of silence when whisked + away by the roaring wind. + </p> + <p> + “Rotten little tub... Anchors hold... But how she holds together... Old as + the ark——” + </p> + <p> + An hour later Hermann pointed to her. Her for'ard bitts, foremast, and + most of her bow were gone, having been jerked out of her by her anchors. + She swung broadside, rolling in the trough and settling by the head, and + in this plight was swept away to leeward. + </p> + <p> + Five vessels now remained, and of them the <i>Malahini</i> was the only + one with an engine. Fearing either the <i>Nuhiva's</i> or the <i>Winifdred's</i> + fate, two of them followed the <i>Roberta's</i> example, knocking out the + chain-shackles and running for the passage. The <i>Dolly</i> was the + first, but her tarpaulin was carried away, and she went to destruction on + the lee-rim of the atoll near the <i>Misi</i> and the <i>Cactus</i>. + Undeterred by this, the <i>Moana</i> let go and followed with the same + result. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good engine that, eh?” Captain Warfield yelled to his owner. + </p> + <p> + Grief put out his hand and shook. “She's paying for herself!” he yelled + back. “The wind's shifting around to the southward, and we ought to lie + easier!” + </p> + <p> + Slowly and steadily, but with ever-increasing velocity, the wind veered + around to the south and the southwest, till the three schooners that were + left pointed directly in toward the beach. The wreck of Parlay's house was + picked up, hurled into the lagoon, and blown out upon them. Passing the <i>Malahini</i>, + it crashed into the <i>Papara</i>, lying a quarter of a mile astern. There + was wild work for'ard on her, and in a quarter of an hour the house went + clear, but it had taken the <i>Papara's</i> foremast and bowsprit with it. + </p> + <p> + Inshore, on their port bow, lay the <i>Tahaa</i>, slim and yacht-like, but + excessively oversparred. Her anchors still held, but her captain, finding + no abatement in the wind, proceeded to reduce windage by chopping down his + masts. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good engine that,” Grief congratulated his skipper, “It will save + our sticks for us yet.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield shook his head dubiously. + </p> + <p> + The sea on the lagoon went swiftly down with the change of wind, but they + were beginning to feel the heave and lift of the outer sea breaking across + the atoll. There were not so many trees remaining. Some had been broken + short off, others uprooted. One tree they saw snap off halfway up, three + persons clinging to it, and whirl away by the wind into the lagoon. Two + detached themselves from it and swam to the Tahaa. Not long after, just + before darkness, they saw one jump overboard from that schooner's stern + and strike out strongly for the Malahini through the white, spitting + wavelets. + </p> + <p> + “It's Tai-Hotauri,” was Grief's judgment. “Now we'll have the news.” + </p> + <p> + The Kanaka caught the bobstay, climbed over the bow, and crawled aft. Time + was given him to breathe, and then, behind the part shelter of the cabin, + in broken snatches and largely by signs, he told his story. + </p> + <p> + “Narii... damn robber... He want steal... pearls... Kill Parlay... One man + kill Parlay... No man know what man... Three Kanakas, Narii, me... Five + beans... hat... Narii say one bean black... Nobody know... Kill Parlay... + Narii damn liar... All beans black... Five black... Copra-shed dark... + Every man get black bean... Big wind come... No chance... Everybody get up + tree... No good luck them pearls... I tell you before... No good luck.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's Parlay?” Grief shouted. + </p> + <p> + “Up tree... Three of his Kanakas same tree. Narii and one Kanaka'nother + tree... My tree blow to hell, then I come on board.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the pearls?” + </p> + <p> + “Up tree along Parlay. Mebbe Narii get them pearl yet.” + </p> + <p> + In the ear of one after another Grief passed on Tai-Hotauri's story. + Captain Warfield was particularly incensed, and they could see him + grinding his teeth. + </p> + <p> + Hermann went below and returned with a riding light, but the moment it was + lifted above the level of the cabin wall the wind blew it out. He had + better success with the binnacle lamp, which was lighted only after many + collective attempts. + </p> + <p> + “A fine night of wind!” Grief yelled in Mulhall's ear. “And blowing harder + all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “How hard?” + </p> + <p> + “A hundred miles an hour... two hundred... I don't know... Harder than + I've ever seen it.” + </p> + <p> + The lagoon grew more and more troubled by the sea that swept across the + atoll. Hundreds of leagues of ocean was being backed up by the hurricane, + which more than overcame the lowering effect of the ebb tide. Immediately + the tide began to rise the increase in the size of the seas was + noticeable. Moon and wind were heaping the South Pacific on Hikihoho + atoll. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield returned from one of his periodical trips to the engine + room with the word that the engineer lay in a faint. + </p> + <p> + “Can't let that engine stop!” he concluded helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “All right!” Grief said, “Bring him on deck. I'll spell him.” + </p> + <p> + The hatch to the engine room was battened down, access being gained + through a narrow passage from the cabin. The heat and gas fumes were + stifling. Grief took one hasty, comprehensive examination of the engine + and the fittings of the tiny room, then blew out the oil-lamp. After that + he worked in darkness, save for the glow from endless cigars which he went + into the cabin to light. Even-tempered as he was, he soon began to give + evidences of the strain of being pent in with a mechanical monster that + toiled, and sobbed, and slubbered in the shouting dark. Naked to the + waist, covered with grease and oil, bruised and skinned from being knocked + about by the plunging, jumping vessel, his head swimming from the mixture + of gas and air he was compelled to breathe, he laboured on hour after + hour, in turns petting, blessing, nursing, and cursing the engine and all + its parts. The ignition began to go bad. The feed grew worse. And worst of + all, the cylinders began to heat. In a consultation held in the cabin the + half-caste engineer begged and pleaded to stop the engine for half an hour + in order to cool it and to attend to the water circulation. Captain + Warfield was against any stopping. The half-caste swore that the engine + would ruin itself and stop anyway and for good. Grief, with glaring eyes, + greasy and battered, yelled and cursed them both down and issued commands. + Mulhall, the supercargo, and Hermann were set to work in the cabin at + double-straining and triple-straining the gasoline. A hole was chopped + through the engine room floor, and a Kanaka heaved bilge-water over the + cylinders, while Grief continued to souse running parts in oil. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't know you were a gasoline expert,” Captain Warfield admired when + Grief came into the cabin to catch a breath of little less impure air. + </p> + <p> + “I bathe in gasoline,” he grated savagely through his teeth. “I eat it.” + </p> + <p> + What other uses he might have found for it were never given, for at that + moment all the men in the cabin, as well as the gasoline being strained, + were smashed forward against the bulkhead as the <i>Malahini</i> took an + abrupt, deep dive. For the space of several minutes, unable to gain their + feet, they rolled back and forth and pounded and hammered from wall to + wall. The schooner, swept by three big seas, creaked and groaned and + quivered, and from the weight of water on her decks behaved logily. Grief + crept to the engine, while Captain Warfield waited his chance to get + through the companion-way and out on deck. + </p> + <p> + It was half an hour before he came back. + </p> + <p> + “Whaleboat's gone!” he reported. “Galley's gone! Everything gone except + the deck and hatches! And if that engine hadn't been going we'd be gone! + Keep up the good work!” + </p> + <p> + By midnight the engineer's lungs and head had been sufficiently cleared of + gas fumes to let him relieve Grief, who went on deck to get his own head + and lungs clear. He joined the others, who crouched behind the cabin, + holding on with their hands and made doubly secure by rope-lashings. It + was a complicated huddle, for it was the only place of refuge for the + Kanakas. Some of them had accepted the skipper's invitation into the cabin + but had been driven out by the fumes. The <i>Malahini</i> was being + plunged down and swept frequently, and what they breathed was air and + spray and water commingled. + </p> + <p> + “Making heavy weather of it, Mulhall!” Grief shouted to his guest between + immersions. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall, strangling and choking, could only nod. The scuppers could not + carry off the burden of water on the schooner's deck. She rolled it out + and took it in over one rail and the other; and at times, nose thrown + skyward, sitting down on her heel, she avalanched it aft. It surged along + the poop gangways, poured over the top of the cabin, submerging and + bruising those that clung on, and went out over the stern-rail. + </p> + <p> + Mulhall saw him first, and drew Grief's attention. It was Narii Herring, + crouching and holding on where the dim binnacle light shone upon him. He + was quite naked, save for a belt and a bare-bladed knife thrust between it + and the skin. + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield untied his lashings and made his way over the bodies of + the others. When his face became visible in the light from the binnacle it + was working with anger. They could see him speak, but the wind tore the + sound away. He would not put his lips to Narii's ear. Instead, he pointed + over the side. Narii Herring understood. His white teeth showed in an + amused and sneering smile, and he stood up, a magnificent figure of a man. + </p> + <p> + “It's murder!” Mulhall yelled to Grief. + </p> + <p> + “He'd have murdered Old Parlay!” Grief yelled back. + </p> + <p> + For the moment the poop was clear of water and the <i>Malahini</i> on an + even keel. Narii made a bravado attempt to walk to the rail, but was flung + down by the wind. Thereafter he crawled, disappearing in the darkness, + though there was certitude in all of them that he had gone over the side. + The Malahini dived deep, and when they emerged from the flood that swept + aft, Grief got Mulhall's ear. + </p> + <p> + “Can't lose him! He's the Fish Man of Tahiti! He'll cross the lagoon and + land on the other rim of the atoll if there's any atoll left!” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes afterward, in another submergence, a mess of bodies poured + down on them over the top of the cabin. These they seized and held till + the water cleared, when they carried them below and learned their + identity. Old Parlay lay oh his back on the floor, with closed eyes and + without movement. The other two were his Kanaka cousins. All three were + naked and bloody. The arm of one Kanaka hung helpless and broken at his + side. The other man bled freely from a hideous scalp wound. + </p> + <p> + “Narii did that?” Mulhall demanded. + </p> + <p> + Grief shook his head. “No; it's from being smashed along the deck and over + the house!” + </p> + <p> + Something suddenly ceased, leaving them in dizzying uncertainty. For the + moment it was hard to realize there was no wind. With the absolute + abruptness of a sword slash, the wind had been chopped off. The schooner + rolled and plunged, fetching up on her anchors with a crash which for the + first time they could hear. Also, for the first time they could hear the + water washing about on deck. The engineer threw off the propeller and + eased the engine down. + </p> + <p> + “We're in the dead centre,” Grief said. “Now for the shift. It will come + as hard as ever.” He looked at the barometer. “29:32,” he read. + </p> + <p> + Not in a moment could he tone down the voice which for hours had battled + against the wind, and so loudly did he speak that in the quiet it hurt the + others' ears. + </p> + <p> + “All his ribs are smashed,” the supercargo said, feeling along Parlay's + side. “He's still breathing, but he's a goner.” + </p> + <p> + Old Parlay groaned, moved one arm impotently, and opened his eyes. In them + was the light of recognition. + </p> + <p> + “My brave gentlemen,” he whispered haltingly. “Don't forget... the + auction... at ten o'clock... in hell.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes dropped shut and the lower jaw threatened to drop, but he + mastered the qualms of dissolution long enough to omit one final, loud, + derisive cackle. + </p> + <p> + Above and below pandemonium broke out. + </p> + <p> + The old familiar roar of the wind was with them. The <i>Malahini</i>, + caught broadside, was pressed down almost on her beam ends as she swung + the arc compelled by her anchors. They rounded her into the wind, where + she jerked to an even keel. The propeller was thrown on, and the engine + took up its work again. + </p> + <p> + “Northwest!” Captain Warfield shouted to Grief when he came on deck. + “Hauled eight points like a shot!” + </p> + <p> + “Narii'll never get across the lagoon now!” Grief observed. + </p> + <p> + “Then he'll blow back to our side, worse luck!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + After the passing of the centre the barometer began to rise. Equally rapid + was the fall of the wind. When it was no more than a howling gale, the + engine lifted up in the air, parted its bed-plates with a last convulsive + effort of its forty horsepower, and lay down on its side. A wash of water + from the bilge sizzled over it and the steam arose in clouds. The engineer + wailed his dismay, but Grief glanced over the wreck affectionately and + went into the cabin to swab the grease off his chest and arms with bunches + of cotton waste. + </p> + <p> + The sun was up and the gentlest of summer breezes blowing when he came on + deck, after sewing up the scalp of one Kanaka and setting the other's arm. + The <i>Malahini</i> lay close in to the beach. For'ard, Hermann and the + crew were heaving in and straightening out the tangle of anchors. The <i>Papara</i> + and the <i>Tahaa</i> were gone, and Captain Warfield, through the glasses, + was searching the opposite rim of the atoll. + </p> + <p> + “Not a stick left of them,” he said. “That's what comes of not having + engines. They must have dragged across before the big shift came.” + </p> + <p> + Ashore, where Parlay's house had been, was no vestige of any house. For + the space of three hundred yards, where the sea had breached, no tree or + even stump was left. Here and there, farther along, stood an occasional + palm, and there were numbers which had been snapped off above the ground. + In the crown of one surviving palm Tai-Hotauri asserted he saw something + move. There were no boats left to the <i>Malahini</i>, and they watched + him swim ashore and climb the tree. + </p> + <p> + When he came back, they helped over the rail a young native girl of + Parley's household. But first she passed up to them a battered basket. In + it was a litter of blind kittens—all dead save one, that feebly + mewed and staggered on awkward legs. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” said Mulhall. “Who's that?” + </p> + <p> + Along the beach they saw a man walking. He moved casually, as if out for a + morning stroll. Captain Warfield gritted his teeth. It was Narii Herring. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, skipper!” Narii called, when he was abreast of them. “Can I come + aboard and get some breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Warfield's face and neck began to swell and turn purple. He tried + to speak, but choked. + </p> + <p> + “For two cents—for two cents——” was all he could manage + to articulate. + </p> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Son Of The Sun, by Jack London + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SON OF THE SUN *** + +***** This file should be named 21971-h.htm or 21971-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/9/7/21971/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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